


A Song of Wolves and Dragons

by HouseOfEl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), crossover - Fandom
Genre: Dark/Manipulative/Cunning Daenerys Targaryen, Dark/Manipulative/Cunning Jon Snow, Dark/Manipulative/Cunning Rhaenys Targaryen, F/F, F/M, R Plus L Equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 99,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseOfEl/pseuds/HouseOfEl
Summary: The Old Gods dived through the threads of fate, and they witnessed the fall of humanity once the ‘Long Night’ arrived. The King and Queen though united and powerful still fall, and with them, the realm of man.Wanting to change the future, they share the future with their chosen beyond the wall. Now, can the Crow and Children of the forest make a difference?I do not own ASOIAF/Game of Thrones.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia), Jon Snow/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia)
Comments: 188
Kudos: 259





	1. Threads Of Fate Rewritten

****

**_A Song of Wolves and Dragons_ **

**_HouseOfEl_ **

* * *

**_I_ **

**_Threads Of Fate Rewritten_ **

* * *

**_The Three Eyed Crow_ **

The Rebellion Begins

“No, please no...This cannot be!” He shouts into the unknown void he found himself in. This has never happened before. Ever since he became the Three Eyed Crow, he always had control of his visions. The Visions of past and present were his domains absolutely, never before did he have any troubles of accessing them. But this, this was different. True he had no control of future visions, since the future could and always change depending on one's choices, no matter how big or small, and what he witnessed weren't absolute, but never did he have visions when it was not he that accessed them. More still, they weren’t true visions, but just glimpses of possible futures in an infinite number of futures that could come to pass. But now here he stands, rooted to the spot, and unable to do a damn thing as the visions assault him from all sides.

Realizing it was all futile to fight the onslaught, the being known as the Three Eyed Crow planted his feet to the ground, and so like a ship on a course with a deadly storm he chooses to let the flow take him where it desires instead of fighting it.

The visions first took him to the farthest reaches of the icy North, a place where even the Free Folk and the deadliest of predators refuses to go, for they know in these icy cold, the truest of all predators resigned. For lo and behold, before him stands the ‘Night King,’ surrounded by his warriors, and his army of wights. An army that seemed endless, an army if he chose to count, would take him nearly a whole year, if not more. The army of said King was made of not only the humans, but every different type of animal, even those that went instinct many years ago. Not only was the army of the Night King vast, it was just as grotesque. Limbs hanging off body parts, skins peeling off, bones protruding. It was a macabre of horrors giving form.

It seems that while the realm were killing each other, the Night King and his Generals were recruiting. The Night King's cunningest was so subtle that he failed to realize how monstrous his army has become. If these were visions of the future, and were to be true, both he and the Children have failed in stopping the Others.

Before he could formulate another thought, the visions came and whisk him away from the darkness of the icy north to the wall that separated man from the monsters that lurk in the darkness. He watches as the Night King raises a horn to his lips, and at that moment, he knew that all was lost. Though his mind and eyes refuse to believe what he was witnessing, but in his heart—or whatever it was that would now pass for such a thing—he knew what the Night King carried.

Once more he scowled himself for his idiocy. In his absolute watch over the Night King, he blinded himself by failing to see the Night King plans. It seems that while he watches over the Night King movement, the Night King soldiers are free to wander and search for the horn.

So now he watches helplessly as the Night King raises the Horns of Winter to his mouth and blew—and the sound that was let loose shattered the Wall—As the wall crumbles before him and the ice smashes into the ground, he imagines the vibrations could be felt all the way to Dragonstone. He watches the wall that was created to protect the land of Man, a wall that stood for nearly 8,000 years, rendered useless rubles in the blink of an eye.

Once more he is whisked away before he could see the fallout of the wall. Now he finds himself standing in the middle of a giant field with two armies on each side, ready to do battle, and if the dialogue he gleams was true, then this battle was for the throne of Westeros.

On one side stood a man, the self-proclaimed Kraken King, pale and handsome with black hair and a beard just as black. One eye hidden by an eyepatch, while the other eye blue as the sky shines with a darkness and evil that no man should ever possess. Lips tinted blue, with a cruel smirk in place. Dressed in a valyrian armor, with a coat long enough to reach his chins, and on his back, the Kraken displayed proudly for all to see. In his hand, a beautiful cutlass ready to kill and maimed his enemies.

On the other side, the other self-proclaimed Queen. Fair skin, beautiful to all, even if one were blind. Emerald eyes holding nothing but contempt. Hair cut short, and dressed in her golden robes with the lion in full display. And just like the Kraken, she was just as mad.

His heart cries when they give the order to their armies to charge, and his heart shatters all the more, for he knows it's too late. The armies will fight, they will die, and the dead will rise again as soldiers for the true enemy.

Before he could lament in his sorrows watching the countless soldiers moan in pain, he is shown Winterfell, and there he sees them, two beings as different as night is to day, but oh so similar. The Crow has no idea who they were, until the wind once more whispered into his ears. The same voice who told him of the Lannister Queen, and the Kraken King. “The King who cares not to be King, and the Queen who proclaimed herself as such by right and hardship.” Behind them stood those that followed them willingly into the unknown. A war band of warriors of all races, and mere folk alike turn warriors ready to lay down their lives selfishly for the safety of all. Seeing such a union made his heart sing, but knowing it to be still too late, shattered just as quickly.

With a roar from the King, the final war begins. Those of the living and undead clashes. The living fought with fierceness in their hearts, with the courageous to end the Long Night, and with the will to live on. But still they were outnumbered ten to one. And for every dead they slay by fire, five of the living fell to their one. The Three Eyed Crow watches on as the Night King and his Generals observe the battle from a hill top with naught a care in the World. For they know there was nothing to fear. For behind them lies the Queen's three greatest weapons made his.

The Three Eyed Crow realized why the three weren't unleashed. This was just a game to the Night King. No more, no less. For he knew he had already won the war for the Dawn. And for the first time, the Crow realized the Night King wasn’t just a mindless beast with naught just destruction in mind. He was just as calculating and manipulative...“No” the Crow now realizes, this being was far worse, and the living as this dream has been showing him were paying for it.

The Crow once more surveys the battlefield, and tears fall from his one good eye, an emotion such as crying that he thought was lost to him once he claimed his title. For on the battlefield, the Queen and King were the last two left of the living, and they were being held down by those they were once called friends and family not too long ago. He continues to watch as the Night King leisurely walks to them with naught a care in the world, “ _then again, why hurry when you’ve already won“_ thought the Crow. Stopping in front of the two rulers, the Night King looks upon them, and not a second later, he plunges his ice spear into the Queen's stomach and ends her life, and all the while never removing his cold icy blue eyes from the King. Her last word to her King, her husband, her life and lover were words of endearments. “I love you J...” and before she could whisper his whole name, her body breathed its last.

The Three Eyed Crow watches as the King unleashed a scream of pure pain and sorrow. So much so that more tears fell from his good eye. He watches as the Night King plunges his ice spear in the King's chest and ends his life, and the Crow could have sworn he saw pleasure in the Night King's eyes.

Believing that was the end, he is whisked away again to the South, and there he sees the army of the dead attacking and killing the Southerners. The coward King, knowing all was lost, left on his ships thinking he was safe, and he watched as the Queen and her army were wiped out, only to rise up once more as wights from the army of the dead with a mere hand gesture from the Night King himself.

New visions flash forward, this time of the cowardly Kraken King watching from his flagship as his ships were frozen, and pulled to the depth of the sea by his own weapon that he previously unleashed to threaten others. The broken Kraken could do nothing and watch as his ambitions sinked to the bottom of the sea.

More visions assault the Crow, taking him across the sea, first to Braavos, Pentos, Astapor, the Great Grass Sea, and he watches as all fall before the Night King and his army of the dead. In the end, the Crow witnesses as the whole World became covered in an icy cold the realm was ever once subjected too, with an eternal darkness that covered the sun itself. And with no means of sustaining life, the Crow watches as the humans that survived the initial fallout of the Night King struggle to survive the eternal darkness and cold, for no place is safe. The Crow continues to wander the realm, watching as all fall before the elements itself, only to rise as wights-slaves to the Others.

With no more visions conjuring forth, and the Crow not able to return to the realm of the living, he begins to wander aimlessly in the barren land, searching for a waypoint to escape this prison not of his making. Yet no matter how much he wanders and searches for a solution, none came forth. In the end, the Crow fell to his knees and screamed to the heavens, and before he could continue to wallow in his sorrow, he felt the wind shift, the air becoming hot and hard to breath, and the ground he was kneeling on grumble under him. Lighting and thunder roar above him. Just as fast, all became quiet, and before he could form a singular thought about said phenomenon, multiple voices assault his mind.

"Do you see Greenseer!” The wind howls.

"This is the future!” The ground underneath him rumbles.

"We shared this vision with you!” roared the lightning and Thunder.

"So you can change it!" All the voices roared out in a perfect crescendo.

“Who are you?” He whispered. Afraid to upset these beings of powers. For if they had such might to force a vision upon him, The Three Eye Crow himself, then it best not to upset them, lest he wished to die. Something he knew for sure that was in their realm of achieving.

All of a sudden the multitude of voices from before filled his head. At first, he thought them to be screaming, but calming his mind and listening closer, he recognized them as laughter.

"Are you so blind that you fail to see our magnificence Greenseer?" When the Crow fails to answer, the voices once more laugh. “Of course he cannot see us,” one set of voices said in jest. Just as soon as the laughter began, it ended. "We are the emissaries of the one true God…The Lord of Light sent here to help.” The voices finished in perfect sync.

The Crow grew speechless hearing that. True he knew of the Lord Of Light's existence-both as Blood Raven, then learning even more from the Children of the Forest-but never in his life did he ever dream of meeting said God’s emissaries. “The dreaming part being so literal,” he could not help but laugh. It wasn’t until the voices in their perfect harmonious symphony questioned him did he realize he was laughing out loud.

“Foolish boy” the voices continued. “We brought you here, showed you the future, and all you can do is laugh?!” “I meant no offence,” the Crows' voice grew chagrin, but just as fast it passed away, for his mind began to contemplate on winning the war to come. The Crow began to pace back and forth, mind reeling with new possibilities, soldiers to recruit, especially the two children the visions showed him. “How to find the two?” He questioned himself out loud.

“Do you believe in yourself enough to make a difference?” The voices interrupted his musings with a condescending tone that had the Crow lurching to a halt.

“What do you mean?” Replied the Crow.

The condescending tone never left their voices, and if a face could be placed to said voices, the Crow believes they would hold nothing but contempt for him.

“How long have you held the title of the "Three Eyed Crow?" The emissaries of the Lord Light carry on. “And what significant changes have you accomplished? How have you halted the others?” They continued on, their tone never changing. “What differences have you and those Children made?” And as the voices lay forth his failings before his feet, the Crow realizes he has not accomplished much. For the Others are still as active as before, and if these visions are true, the Others will soon win the war.

Silence fell between the emissaries and the Crow. Only to be broken with the Crow’s humbling of himself by thanking the emissaries for the visions shared with him.

“Thank you?!” The voices responded. The Crow could hear the vexation in their tone. “After we share these visions with you, thank you are all we receive?! Such a petulant child you are.” 

“I do not understand,'' answered the Crow. “It's simple child, you lack the powers to stop the Others, powers we can bestow to you, and all we desire from you is your loyalty.” Said the voices. A queer look enter the Crows face. “What do you mean loyalty?” “Simple” the emissaries were quick to fire back, “become a servant of the one true God, the Lord Of Light, and abandon your Old Gods!"

First there was silence. Next came bewilderment, then the uncontrollable shaking, and finally, finally came the rage. Rage the crow has not felt since he once went by another name when he once was walked as a man. And not caring of the consequences, he roars into the void at the Lord Of Lights emissaries.

“How dare you! How dare you bastards insult my gods!” The crow squeezes his hand into a fist, then points into the heavens at the Lord of Lights emissaries he could not see, and continues to rage. “I don't care whom you call yourselves, or serve, I'll have none of your blaspheming, and continue to do, I swear by my name, I shall make you all pay!” The Crow finished his speech with a thump to his chest.

It seems the emissaries were more amused then scared, if their laughter were of any indication.

"Oh!" the voices once more whispered with a sense of amusement in their tone. “What can you do little Greenseer? You are stuck in this dream we've summoned you in, only we can release you. Do you believe it wise to speak to us as if you are our equals?”

"I care not!” he roars back. “I have thanked you for this dream, or future you have shown me, but I'll have no more insults of my Gods again, and I swear by them, continue to do so, I shall make you all pay...One way or the other!"

“Pay you say, Pay!” The emissaries of the Lord Of Light roar and rages on. And as their anger rises, the dreaming world begins to shake. The elements themselves grew berserk with their rage. The Earth shook and great fissures were form splitting the dream world asunder, bringing forth dormant volcanoes that shoot fires upon the world that burns all before its path, and a dark heavy smoke rises unto the heavens that covers the world in even more darkness, if such a thing was even possible.

The sky darkens with ominous clouds, giving birth to thunder and lightning that brought forth a combination of rain, wind and hail. All three, individually strong enough to destroy houses, flood a land, let alone a poor old man.

Knowing death was imminent, the Crow never once backed down, eyes open wide to the heavens and standing firm in the face of his imminent destruction. His only regret was not being able to change the future he bore witness to.

Instead of death, the Crow felt warmth surrounds him all of a sudden, then full-blown laughter.

"Truly fascinating little one. We choose wisely with you. Even powerless in our realm, you refuse to abandon your Gods, even going so far as to challenge our might.” Surprise and perplexion lit up in the Crows face, and before he could form any more thoughts, the very air itself shook than shifted, and a light came forth so brightly that the Crow even with his eyes closed, he could still feel the brightness and sting in his eyes. Finally, opening his eyes, the Crow found himself no longer in the desolated plains, but in a forest with greens as far as the eyes could see, giant trees that block out the sun, with a giant waterfall on the highest peak that runs down and waters the land. The Crow’s eyes took on all the different types of animals-even extinct ones that frolic both on the ground and in the air without a care to them.

Those sights took the Crow’s breath away. But, it was what dominated the middle of the forest that not only took his breath away, but that brought tears to his eyes-was none other than the giant weirwood tree that eclipsed all.

The Crow fell to his knees, and tears poured forth unabashed, and for the first time in a long time, he was not only at peace, but he was truly happy. Then and there, the Crow knew it was his Gods that came to him. Even with the shifting behind him, the Crow did not turn around, nor move his eyes from the weirwood tree. It was the voices that moved him into action.

Turning on his heels, the Crow eyes fell on four animals. A Stag, a Lion, a Dire Wolf, and a Dragon. Each four beasts magnificence as the next-ethereal looking more so than anything-The crow, already on his knees bows his head in both respect, awe, and servitude to his Gods.

"Raise your head child." The crow heard. The voices were mingled, intertwined together, not able to discern which of the Old Gods were speaking, for none of their mouths moved, but it was the soothing sound of the voice that put him at ease. Gods and man eyes locked. “We did not bring you here to have you grovel before us child, we brought you here to speak of the future.” 

“Telepathically” the Crow surmised. That’s how they were speaking to him.

“Ask away your questions child, for we know you have many, and our time in this world is finite, if we wished to save the realm of the living.”

“Why choose the elements first, instead of the animals?” The crow questioned.

“We choose to come to you through the elements only as a test. For if we had chosen animals, you would have known who we were, and you would have wholly agreed to our plan without question. We wanted to test you, for the path that lies ahead cannot be walked upon by the weak willed.”

“Am I weak willed?” The Crow’s voice tone took on a hard edge.

“No, they answered in unison. You are many things child, weak willed is not one of them. We have witnessed your sacrifices to our cause…you and the Children’s. This was but a test to see how far your devotion and faith in us ran, for many have prayed to us, but hold no real true faith in us, and their faith is as empty and whimsical as the wind itself.”

"Truly young one, we are impressed, and we thank you." The voices once more echoed in perfect sync and harmony while slightly lowering their heads as a show of respect.

The Crow felt a feeling of warmth surrounding him, and he knew in his heart, these beings were his and the Children’s Gods. His only regret was the Children’s absence. For they would have been happy to see the Gods they have worshiped since time immemorial.

As the Crow opened his mouth to ask another question, he felt a small shift in the air, and looking around, he realized the forest he was in shrink a tiny beat, and the weirwood tree lost just a little luster.

The Crow turns his eyes back to the Gods, asking for an answer. “You see it, don’t you? The small shift? Our powers wane, and we are limited on time. As the vision shown to you, the Night King will win this war.”

“The future is never certain” the Crow was quick to fire back. 

“That’s right young one, the future is never certain, but with the way the cogs are being moved, this future we showed you, is the most likely to occur.” “How can I stop it,” the Crow whispered.

“The King and Queen are the keys to winning the battle of the Dawn. You must find a way to bring the two together sooner than later. If events are not changed, they will eventually meet, but by then it would be all too late. The vision showed to you proved that.”

“How can I bring them together when I know not who they are? I know the queen to be Targaryen, and the King to be Stark from appearances, but that is all I know” said the Crow. “Worry not young one, we did not come to you and showed you said possible future without a way of interfering. Just for showing you this, the cogs are ever shifting into a different path.” Answered the Old Gods.

The Three Eyed Crow once more felt the shift as he was once more whisk away. Appearing in a clearing, he looked upon a round tower, surrounded by red mountains. “I can assume this is Dorne? But why bring me here?” The Crow surmises. Before he could question the Old Gods further, he felt another shift in the air. “Watch, young one, for this is the beginning of the story.”

So he watches. He witnesses two groups of men, one group he recognizes as Northerners thanks to armor and cloak, the other as Kingsguard for their white armor and cloak, and the three headed dragons on their armor. No matter how much he tried, he could not hear what was spoken between the two groups, nor was he able to see their faces.

Then the battle began, and in the end, two Northerners were the only survivors. One of Stark's appearances and the other a Crannogmen. Then a scream was heard, and the young Northerner ran for the tower. He watches as a young lady lay bleeding holding a babe in her arms with hair as black as night, and eyes of the darkest gray. Though he knew not what was said between the two, the Crow believed the child would one day play an important role in the war to come. He watches as the two Northerners burn the eight bodies, and makes Cairns with stones from the tower itself as a show of respect to the dead.

The Three Eyed Crow watches as the two men leave the tower behind, with a baby, and a dead woman’s body in tow.

"Do you understand now?" Questioned the Old Gods. "Some I understand, but most I do not still,” said the Crow. And before he could ask more questions, more visions flooded his mind. He witnessed the tournament of Harrenhal, and the fallout of Rhaegar's folly. His death at the trident, the death of his family, and the destruction of the Targaryen's dynasty.

“So Rhaegar in his arrogance started this war because of his lust? Even when he was married and with two children he wanted more? Another man's betrothed?” He roared. “Why were Targaryens so full of themselves?” He questions no one in particular.

"Have you learned nothing boy?!" And for a mere second, the smoothness left the voices, and the Crow was able to differentiate between the four. It was the Dragon the Crow was quick to realize that had spoken, and just as quickly, the tones shifted, and the smoothness returned. The Crow was able to discern disappointment in their tone. “Was I wrong in my assumption?” A contemplating look made its appearance on the Crows old withered face.

"Lyanna Stark,” the Gods continued on, as if the Crow never uttered a question, “never loved Robert. “For all of his boast of love for her, he never knew her.” A melancholy tone entered their voices when they next spoke. “But they loved each other...Those three.”

"Three?!" The Crow exclaimed, eyes wide hearing the words. The Gods continued on once more as if his questions were just words floating in the wind. “Rhaegar, Elia, Lyanna, their love was true and pure.” The Crow could not believe what he was being told.

“Together, those three would have created an age of true peace if the cogs of fate were not cruel. But atlas…” melancholy entered their voices, “it was not meant to be, for they were not the three that were promised.”

"Fate truly is a cruel mistress." The Gods lament on.

"Wait!” The Crow interrupted. Instead of continuing on with this bleak future, when thousands shall die from a useless war, why not change it were Rhaegar and his family lives instead?”

Even though their faces never moved, the crow could tell he was being scolded like an adult does a child with no intelligence on what they speak on. But still, he needed to truly know, why choose what can, and could not be changed.

“It’s simple young one” begins the Old Gods. “Like you, we became fixated on one point, and by the time we realized our folly, it was all but too late.” A sigh escapes the Old Gods after that sentence.

“Like we said,” they begin once more. “We too were focused on a singular purpose, and in our folly, we believed the threads of fate we glimpsed and poured our magic into to be absolute.” There the Crow witnessed something he never didn’t think possible. " _Do they sound regretful and reproach_?" Thought the Crow. The Old Gods next words proved him true. “Like the young ones that serve us, we too are beings of vices.” A chuckle left their melded voice, echoing throughout the void they were now in.

A strike of light struck the Crow, and he fell witness to a future that had him smiling. A future where Rhaegar and his family ruled. The ‘Others’ were destroyed, and the realm at true peace. A future that lasted for generation upon generation. After their death, their children ruled, the peace continued, and even after they were lost in the annals of time as mere stories, the peace continued.

And just like that, the vision ended. “You see young one, that was the future we glimpsed, and in our hubris, we failed to see the thread of fate ever slowly changing.”

For everything they've shown him, most made no sense, and he needed answers, not more puzzles. So with that in mind, and strength in himself he begins.

“I understand” the Crow begins. “But you've not answered the obvious question. You clearly can see and manipulate the future, then why not change it? Why not go and save Rhaegar and his loved ones before death comes for them?”

This time, the voices become more exasperated and forlorn. “We can only glimpse the future and push against the thread of fates we desire, not truly change it. Once the threads of fate are set, they are beyond even our powers. This future we shared with you concerning the young King and Queen is just the beginning of the thread of fate taking shape. If none is done, then said future shall become absolute. But if we were to interfere, as we are now, then the threads shall change as it moves forward.”

"I see,'' Said the Crow. Then a look of contemplation enters his face. “The future is only absolute if nothing is done, but if we were to tweak the thread of fate while they are still in infancy, then it can be changed for the better. The only reason Rhaegar's cannot be changed is because his thread and all those align with him are absolute.”

“Yes!” The Gods gleefully exclaimed.

“So tell me my Gods, are we changing the future as we speak now?” Ask the Crow. “Yes,” the Gods responded. “Little by little we are. Though right now, they are naught but a small ripple, that if we are to stop, would hold no significance for the longer future. But if we are to continue to tweak the threads, no matter how small, then we hope for a long and lasting ripple.”

“Remember young one, The dragon must have three heads. Rhaegar, Elia and Lyanna were the three catalyst for the prophecy. Their children were to be the promised ones, but with this future, the prophecy has now been passed to the two young rulers.” The Old Gods finished.

“Then that boy and the Targaryen girl are two of the heads then?”

“Yes!” The voices interrupted. The Crow could feel joy in their tone now. “Finally, you are comprehending the truth.”

“But wait? What of the third dragon’s head? From my understanding, the young King and Queen are the two heads, then what roles do Rhaegar's other two children have in the prophecy?”

“They play no part in the game, young one.” The Gods answered with such finality in their tone had the Crow shaking to his very core. And a part of him, the part that he thought he buried years ago once more came forth. “I'll not let these two innocent children die because of the folly of their fathers” he all but roars.

“Silence!” The Old Gods roared back. “Do you truly believe us so heartless that we would casually toss aside the innocence if we could help it?!” Their voices continued to roar as each word spewed forth. We've looked into the threads of fate…” the Old Gods grew quiet when their representatives fell to his knees in the void, and his body began to be wracked and shook from his crying, and all they could do was to embrace and comfort him.

As they sooth him, they continue speaking. “If we do not act young one, more death shall follow, more innocent lives shall be lost to the endless and mindless violence’s of man. Then all the realm shall suffer. We are not so heartless young one, truly we tried, we have nearly exhausted all of our powers to find a way to save those two, but it was all for naught. If we were not so weakened....maybe we could have delved deeper, but weaker we are, and time is short.”

The Crow understood the God's point of view. But it meant naught to him, when his family were being murdered left and right. Especially innocent children that should not have to suffer the sins of their fathers. So with that in mind, he made one more plea to the Old Gods to save the children.

The Old Gods could only sigh. The Crow watches as all four physical manifestations of the Old Gods closes their eyes, and silence falls. The Crow watches as the water that flows from the waterfall continues to fall grew silent, the wind that was howling stops, the leaves and grass no longer sway, and the animals, both grounded and flying, become static on the spot. Then the Old Gods open their eyes, and everything once more resumes, the garden to the Crow did look less luster though.

“We have listened to your plea in regards to the children, and the only outcome is the survival of one of the two, no matter how much we've tried, the outcome stays the same” Said the Gods. 

“I see,” answered the Crow after a beat of silence. It would seem he made up his mind with his next inquiry to the Old Gods after rubbing his face and letting out a tired sigh. “So which of the two children then?”

“That decision is yours, and yours alone, child of man.” 

“What?!” The Crow exclaimed. With his hands buried his white thinning hair. “How can you ask me such a thing?” He asks with a new wave of tears falling down his face. “How can you force me to make such a crucial decision.” The Crow carries on.

“Listen young one, if we are to stay static, then all of our sacrifices so far shall be for naught, more innocence shall die for naught, and the realm itself shall meet its end when the Others strike. We ask you to make this decision because in your previous life, you were called upon to make difficult decisions, and you always chose the path that was best for the realm, no matter how hard.”

“Now, what is your choice?” 

The Three Eyed Crow wiped his tears, and rose to his feet, a new determination in him. Though he hated the decision thrust on his shoulders once more, he would carry out his vows like before.

“The princess is the better choice of the two,” he spoke with a voice full of pain and sadness.

“Very well” answers the Old Gods. “Now that you have chosen, we have much more to share with you, and time runs short, and we are becoming weaker the more time we dive through the threads of fate.

Before the Crow could ask more questions, he felt the same rush as before when a vision was being thrust upon him.

Now the Crow was awarded a vision of two young Queens being spirited away from the Stags and Lions, while the young King was taken and named Bastard of his uncle, for his protection. His rage boils as he watches how the Lion of the Rock, unable to find the Princess, had her switched for a commoner, and had one of his dogs savagely stab the poor innocent child to death until she becomes unrecognizable. Then he watches as the mountain smashes the poor boy’s face, then rape his mother to death with his hands still wet with his blood.

Fist clenching so hard, the Crow didn’t even realize he was bleeding until he felt the wetness in his palms. Looking at his bloody palm, he swore a vow. “You will all pay!” Before he could lament more, the Old Gods spoke.

“Listen well young one, for this is crucial, for if you fail, all is lost. Our powers are waning, the stronger the Night King grows, the more he desecrates the lands, the weaker we become. Once the boy grows, you must take him under your wing and train him. Teach him all you can, bestows upon him knowledge in all aspects, do not skip one for the other. Turn him into a true warrior of mind, body and spirit, but most importantly of heart. For it is heart that shall be his greatest weapon, and it shall be said heart that shall help shape the two Queens into the leaders they are destined to become.

“What of the Queens then? With the two being spirited away across the narrow sea where I hold no power, how can I teach them?” Contemplate the Crow.

“That....is an unfortunate circumstance that cannot be helped. If we were at our peak, we could have accomplished something, but atlas we are not. So for now, keep an eye on the young King. Worry not of the two young Queens beyond our shores, for it shall do you no good. Though their lives will be harsh, the two shall be reunited with the young King. We shall set certain plans into motions to make it so. The life they were to have without our interference shall not happen...not entirely.” They conclude after a beat of silence.

“When can I bring him to me?” Ask the Crow. Eager to begin his lessons with one of the three heads.

“Bring him when he reaches the age of ten” they answered him.

“Why so late in life? If I am to bring him to our cause, would it not be best to start at a far earlier age? An age where I can truly mold him to our cause?”

“ No,” they were quick to answer the Crow. “Leave the child in the care of kins. The next ten years of his life shall be hard due to his bastard status, but with those hardships he shall learn to put others before him, to serve a cause higher than himself, and most of all, to love others, be they family or not. It is those experiences and hardships that shall shape his mindset.” Finishes the Old Gods. 

“I see” the Crow hums back. “And you believe Ned Stark shall be the one to bestow him such gifts?” “Yes,” The Old Gods were quick to answer with a finality in their tone. “And though we have absolute faith in you child, we know you have lost many things that made you human ever since coming this far north… and your isolation did not help either.” The Old Gods finished.

“Now come, we have more visions to share with you.”

The Crow watches a battle taking place. Though the men were few and outnumbered, that mattered little, their enemies were far weaker and less skill compared to them who breathed and lived on the edge of war. The Crow deducted he was once more back in Dorne. 

“Magnificent are they not?” Said the Old Gods while they watch on. “Few men in this realm can match one in single combat…but when they fight together, they are near unstoppable. Shame this shall be their resting site.” Continue the Old Gods in a somber voice. “Imagine if they were to survive this battle, young one? What they could bring to the future King and Queens, would it not be an amazing sight?”

“Am I meant to interfere then? Save them even?” The Crow thought his question would go unanswered, and when he finally accepted no answer would come, the Gods gave him one.

“As we've said before, our powers waned, and the longer we look and try to change the threads of fate, the weaker we become. But yes, we wish to save them. Their blade would be instrumental to the future King and Queens. But most importantly to the Queens.

“I thought all those whose alignment with Rhaegar shared one fate?” The Crow questioned aloud.

“Not necessarily,” the Old Gods were quick to answer. “All mortals' fate is of their own making, but sometimes, said fate can become interwoven with others if they stay the course. These three fates were no longer bound to Rhaegar’s when he left them to guard the young Prince.”

“Very well then, how may they be saved then?” The Crow questioned. “Use your eyes in the skies, and with these amulets bestows with magic of glamour shall help.” A vision of a magical pendant made of silver with a glowing red ruby embezzled in the center flashes in the Crow's mind. “Once you wake, perform the necessary ritual, and use your crows to bring them where they need be. This man shall know what to do.” Another memory entered the Crows mind, this time of a man who was small in height and stature, but it was the eyes that struck the Crow, for they held sincerity and knowledge beyond most men.

“Like you young one, he is a true follower of us, so has his family since time immemorial, and since time immemorial, we have bestowed upon his line the gift of the Greenseer.” 

“Will he truly help us?” Ask the Crow. “Yes” the God's answer. “His love for Lyanna is as strong as the love he holds for his people. Remind him of that love. For you see, she protected and defended him when others laughed and insulted him. For them to survive, he shall be instrumental, bring him the medallions, speak with him and his dreams, explain, convince him to our cause, and if he chooses, allow him his part in the game.”

“Why go through all this when it concerns the boy? Why not go straight to Ned Stark himself?” A sigh escapes the Old Gods. “Going to Ned Stark would be the right course, but once this war begins, Ned Stark will be too distraught, his heart close to all but the returning of his sister, and once he holds the boy, not even our pleas shall sway him...for the promise he shall make to his sister far outweighs his dedication to us.”

“We have shared all we could with you” the voices of the Old Gods sounded strained to the Crows' ears “It is now time for you to return and begin your planning. 

As the Crow opened his mouth to speak, a bright light surrounded him, then he felt himself falling. The last words he heard from the Old Gods.

“Failure is not an option!” 

The Three Eyed Crow opens his eye, only to see himself back in his vine-like throne, surrounded by the children of the forest, watching him with a look of worry upon their faces.

“How long have I dreamt?” The Crow asked no one in particular. One of the Children closest to him was quick to answer, and the Crow’s surprise was evident for all by the answer he received. “You dreamt for nearly a full moon” young one, and we feared you dived too far and were unable to find your way back. All our efforts in vain to reign you back fell on death ears.”

“I see,'' said the crow after a beat of silence. “What happened?” The Children closest to him asked, removing him from his thoughts.

So the Crow set out and told them of his dream. The Crow watches a look enter their eyes, a look he had not seen from them in a long time… It was a look of happiness, a look of a better tomorrow, a look that he knew mirrors his own withered face.

“How do we bring the young King not yet born to us?” Question another of the Children, “and why wait such a long time?” 

“The Old Gods desire it so my friends. When the time comes, I shall use dreams to speak to him. Though he will be frightened, I shall share with him dreams of the future, I shall show him the future I have seen if he chooses not to act, and I truly believe that shall be enough to guarantee his willingness to help.”

The Crow silently watches as the Children take the news, and communicate to each other silently before he continues.

“According to the Old Gods, our young King shall possess strong morals of righteousness and honor, even for a child. Being raised as a Stark, such fundamentals shall be integral to his very being, and that shall be our key to him... our way in.” Finishes the Crow.

“None of that matters, young one.” Answered one the Children. “The only way to teach him is to have him here with us. If he is to be ready, we need to train him personally in our arts, and I do not need my foresight to know that this Eddard Stark would allow us to take his child willingly… Fake or real.”

“Hmm,” the Crow hums while stroking his long white beard, a habit he gained after fusing with his throne. “That is too true,” he answered after a beat of silence. “Yes, I do not see Eddard Stark willingly handing us his nephew over when in the future he shall claim the boy as his.”

“Well then, it seems we've reached an impasse then.” Another one of the Children of the Forest set forth.

“Too true” says the Crow. “But,” he continues on. “Worrying about the young King and Queens shall be put to rest for the time being. For now, we have more pressing matters that must be handled, far sooner than later I’m afraid. A full turn of the moon has been lost to us already, and I have no desire to lose anymore.”

With that he looked to the children to confirm their previous insight. With their acknowledgment, the Crow continues on. “The Old Gods have shown me others that shall play a role in the coming war. Others we must rescue and recruit before death lays her cold fingers on them, and items of magic that must be forged before the war ends to help those very few.”

Like a spark, a thought entered the Crows head. Instead of talking and wasting time, why not communicate like all true Greenseers do. With that in mind, the Crow waves the children over. “Touch the limbs and let me share the full vision with you all.” Spoke the Crow with a smile on his face. As the Children's fingers touch the branches, their minds meld, memories exchanged, and all became one.

Happiness was the most apparent feeling the Crow gleaned from them. For it has been far too long since they heard the voices of their Gods. Horror was felt next when they witnessed the destruction the Others would cause if they were not stopped. Then finally, came clarity. Their Gods had not forsaken them, the Gods they worshiped still watched over them, and now, even in their weakened state, they came to them, they've bestowed them a fighting chance, a chance to save the realm, to make things right.

Leaving the dream realm, the Crow and the children begin to set the plans in motion. “How long will it take to create the amulets and to imbue them with magic?” Question The Crow.

The Children look at each other before turning to the Crow with their answer.

“We possess the necessary ingredients here to forge the amulets.” Answers the one closest to him. “But,” another one of the Children continued as if they shared one thought. “Though we possess the necessary ingredients, it shall take quite an amount of time to create the amulets.” “But, I fear we must proceed with caution when it comes to imbuing the amulets with the necessary magic.” Continued another one of the Children. "Too little, they become useless, too much, we risk a negative reaction, and we cause an overload with the rubies. With our magic weakening, we must stride with the utmost care. Four months' time young one, we shall have all six ready for you.”

“Good” the Crow answers. “With the war at its beginning, I must find and convince him to help us.”

The Crow closes his eyes, and searches for the greenseer that the Old Gods told him off. Opening himself to the world of dream walking, it was not long till he found the man he was searching for. The Crow was surprised at the ease of it. He was like a beacon in the dream world, unmistakable to miss. He shines brightly for all to see. " _The Old Gods weren't lying when they claimed he was blessed with the gift of a true Greenseer_."

The Crow was once more surprised when he readily accepted to help his cause. “Why help me?” Question the Crow. “How do you know this is not but a mere dream? Worse yet, you do not seem surprised to see me?” Continues the Crow with creases and a frown on his withered face. It took awhile for him to form the proper words, but all the while the Crow watches him. And when he finally answered, he surprised the Crow. “All my life he began, I knew I possessed certain abilities, one of them being the ability of dream walking. I could never control them, but sometimes I dreamt of the future. Sometimes they come to pass, more often they do not. These abilities of mine are a gift from the Old Gods, whom my family have worshiped since the beginning, and we've been taught to always listen to our dreams. For three nights pass, I dreamt of you coming to speak to me. That's why I am not surprised.” Finished the crannogmen

The Crow smiled, “That is good child, less time I have to spend on convincing you this is all real. Now listen to me, young one, for we mustn't waste time.” So the Crow detailed the plan to his new comrade, and showed him the future vision of the Old Gods whom they both serve.

His only sadness came when he had to lie to his lord friend, and tears flowed when he found Lyanna would soon pass. He vehemently argues with the Crow into making sure Lyanna lives, but in the end, he accepts that not all fate could be changed.

“In four months’ time child, I shall send my crows to you. The amulets shall be with them, and the rest shall be in your hands.” “I will not fail you,” the crannogmen responded with conviction in his voice. The Crow’s only answer was a small smile.

"Do not die!" Were the last words he heard before the being known as the Three Eyed Crow disappear.

Waking up back on his throne made of trees a few hours later, the Crow told the children of the development of the Greenseer. “So we have his help then.” Said one of the Children. “Yes,” answers the Crow. “He will help. “I'll admit,” said the Crow after a beat of silence. “He surprised me, I never thought I would ever meet a man that had such faith in the Gods, and with blood that carries such power of the gift.”

"It's a shame, there are so few like you young one." Said one of the Children in a solemn tone.

**_FOUR MONTHS LATER_ **

****

The Crow watches from above as his crows carry, and bestows the amulet to the greenseer. The plan, though not perfect, went far better than he thought possible. All three blades were saved. Even sustaining life threatening injuries, they would survive to fight another day. Though, it will take a while to heal-but heal they would-the greenseer would make sure of it.

“The blades are now safe?” Question one of the Children. “They are my friends” said the Crow with a smile on his withered face, while he watches the Children’s own form of happiness. “The greenseers' loyal few who know of his gift, and trustworthy shall bring the blades to his home so they can heal, and as we speak now, the three are being transported, and the glamour still in effect.”

“Tell me young one, have you thought on how to convince those three? It was easy to convince the greenseer, for he believes in the Old Gods, but those three have no Gods they truly believe in, and if they do worship a set of gods, it is the Seven. Once the amulets are removed from them, and the sleeping spell lifts, and they wake, they might just attack those who are transporting them, no matter their condition, and all this will be for naught if said scenario plays out?

The Crow was quick to reassure them. “Worry not my friends, I was adamant to the greenseer not to remove the amulet unless he was present, and he assured me, the ones who are transporting the blades are loyal to a fault, they shan't go against his wishes.”

“On convincing those three,” I believe the best way is to speak to them through their dreams. Share with them the future that shall come to pass if nothing is done, and I believe they shall help in the end. Even if for some reason they think it nothing but a dream, once they wake and see where they are, and speak of their dreams amongst each other, and realize the similarities, they will come to believe. Then, we shall tell them of the young King and Queens role in the battle for the dawn.”

Silence reigned amongst them after the Crows explanation, only to be broken by the Crow’s humming to himself, and then being questioned by one of the Children. “What is it, young one?” The Crow hums once more before letting his thoughts known.“There is one more individual I believe we should make aware of the changes that are yet to come.”

“Are you sure? Better yet, can he be trusted?” Ask one of the Children that stayed silent throughout most of the planning. Looking at the uneasiness in the Children’s faces, he remembers the pain and loss they face at the hand of man so long ago.

“Aye, I am, and yes, he can be trusted.” The Crow spoke up, making sure he made eye contact with each of the Children, letting them know this individual was worthy of their time, and many one day, trust. “With him on our side, our chances are far better. In my old life, not only was he a true friend, but his counsel was paramount. I may have been called a great warrior and tactician when I served the watch, but it was his counsel that kept me from straying too much the wrong path.” A chuckle left the Crow’s lips without meaning too. He elaborated when the Children turned their gaze upon him, asking for an answer. “I sometimes wonder who I would have become if I had an ally like him to help me when I ruled in King Landing.”

Melancholy stayed with the Crow while he remembered his friend and family, until he was pulled back by words of one the children. “But will he believe you?” One of the Children pushes on. “It’s been years since you disappeared from the wall, young one. For all we know, he might believe you naught but an apparition… An apparition came to torment his last days on this plane.”

“We shall see” answers the Crow as he allows himself to fall into the dream world and begins searching for his old friend.

Waking up, the Crow told the Children the good news. With a new ally, an ally the Crow knew could be counted on, his heart grew a little less heavy with the burden of the realm.

The conversation was soon changed to the whereabouts of the true enemy. “The Old Gods spoke true” begins one of the Children. “Two of us,” he continued, “went searching for the Others and their mindless minions, all was quiet... Neither one to be seen.”

The Crow could only hum, not knowing all the answers himself. “I know not the full reason they are so quiet. But my friends, we must be careful. From now on, no more venturing on the outside, unless it is absolutely necessary.” The Crow lock eyes with each of the Children, wanting them to see his sincerity—for it is said, most truth can be gleaned from the eyes, for they are the windows to the soul— “We've been giving this chance, we are all that is left, we cannot risk losing even one of us to them.” The Crow took a second to inhale fresh air into his dead lungs, a habit for whatever reason he begins performing after speaking to the Old Gods. He could both taste and smell the magic in the air, but more importantly, he could feel hope, small it may be, hope all the same. “When the time comes, we shall need all the magic to prepare the young King to fight the Others, so promise me, do not go looking for them and put yourselves in unnecessary danger.”

It was the closest Children to the Crow that answered the Crow's plea with a playful note in her voice. “Worry not young one, we shall stay in the caves where it's safe. For even now, after living in this fortress-like maze for many years, we have yet to explore all of its roots.” But Just as fast, the playfulness left her voice, replaced with a being that has seen far too much, that has lived far too long. “We shall continue to search for the Others with our eyes in the skies and land, we cannot stand still while we wait for the young King to join us.”

“That is all I ask for” The Crow replies with a small nod of his head

The Crow looked upon the Children of the Forest, and a fire like never before made its home in his belly, a fire that reflected in his one good eye. A fire he had not felt since he held her in his arms so long ago, and made promises of love, and swore vows of protection, that it felt like a different life. His withered face grew hard with determination.

"My friends,” his voice, normally gravel from lack of use, boomed among the cave walls. “We have been given a chance to save this world. A chance to make right, a chance to end the nightmare that began millennia ago." Looking down, all the Children's attention was on him, he could feel the excitement in their bones, his included. Then his withered voice turned to naught but a whisper, but it might have been a shout for his voice resonated amongst the walls of the cave.

"The war begins!"

**Notes:**

Here’s the thing, I previously had ten chapters of this story written. But while I was editing the latest chapter, something happened with my old laptop, and I lost everything. I was so annoyed that I said fucked it and stop. But being bored, I got the drive to write again. 

Since I still have the basis for the story in my head, I decided if I were to continue, it would be best if I reread the old chapters and familiarize myself with the story. Imagine my surprise when I realize all the mistakes I made. One criticism I received was the lack of differentiations between who’s talking. So I’ve written new dialogues, and fixed most of the mistakes. The first few chapters stay the course.

I’ve already begun the next chapter, and I’m up to 5,000 already. It should be another 10k chapter. Then the editing, i would say about 2 weeks or so.

So for these few that left honest feedbacks in the original story, I thank you, and I hope these new chapters 

#### Luccajorge21, [Rhys_108](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhys_108/pseuds/Rhys_108), [DWGProphecy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DWGProphecy/pseuds/DWGProphecy), [DaSpeedForce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaSpeedForce/pseuds/DaSpeedForce), [Leilani972](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leilani972/pseuds/Leilani972)

If anyone feels like helping by editing, just let me know.


	2. A New Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The young child and the crow meet in his dreams. Decisions are made, and new players enter the circle, and take center stage.

* * *

**_A Song of Wolves and Dragons_**

**_HouseOfEl_**

* * *

**II** ****

**_A New Song_ **

* * *

**_The Young Bastard Of Winterfell_ **

“Come Jon of Winterfell…have no fear from me young child.” The voice whispered. “You have been chosen to save the realm…you in your kin.” The voice rose in crescendo. “You are one of the key few that can stop the long night. The voice finishes in but a whisper.

“Who are you?” The young child known as Jon questions the void he found himself in once more. Silence was his answer, just like the many other times he would come to find himself in this void.

Before Jon could ask another question, he was forced to wake from his slumber, and looking out his window, he could still see the moon high in the night sky. The dreams always ended like this, him waking up in a pile of sweat in the middle of the night and unable to fall back asleep.

These strange dreams have become a regular occurrence since his fifth name day. At first they came once or twice every fortnight, but on his eight name day, the dreams came more frequently, till he began to dreamt them once a night now. So much of a staple they've become, now he fears to even sleep. And lately, no matter how much he tries to stay awake, he always ends up falling asleep, tired or not. At least one hour before sleep would come to claim him, a musical note would always make it to his ears...like tonight, the sweet melody started low, and like before, it grew into a crescendo-annoying-but soothing was the tune. One time, Jon had questioned Robb of the melody being played, and Robb had look upon him as if he were queer. Since then, Jon knew to keep quiet.

Eyes wide open in the darkness — with only the moon shining at his open window to cast moving shadows around him — the boy breathes to calm his erratic heart. After calming down, and knowing it was useless for sleep would now elude him, Jon left his bed, not even caring his sleep clothes were still damp from sweat, for what to come next would make it redundant to wipe himself. 

Jon grabbed the wooden sword he began keeping next to his bed since the dreams became more frequent. Grabbing the blade and taking a two handed grip, he began going through the form Ser Rodrick taught him and Robb. The movements were simple, performing a combination of quick jabs, side swipe, downward strike and upward strikes, and lunges. Then combining them in one fluid movement. Simple moves that Ser Rodrick taught them. Simple moves Ser Rodrick claimed were the basic fundamentals of the sword of any swordsman — from the mediocre, to the greatest of fighters. “A basis!” he had roared when one of the recruits was foolish enough to question his method.

With the frequency of these dreams, Jon knew something had to be done. For as long as he could remember, he has kept the dreams to himself, not even telling his brother and best friend Robb, let alone their lord father. Fear of being labelled once more, for he knew what it meant to be a 'Bastard' now thanks to Theon Greyjoy. Theon, in his way to insult him, accidently let it slip what a bastard truly meant. ' _Then again, knowing Theon, maybe he did it purposely_.' After all, Greyjoy was heartless when he chose to be. “No matter, What's done is done, no need to dwell in things that cannot change.” He spoke aloud.

Though he hated the Greyjoy heir, he silently thanked him for opening his eyes to the world. Even Robb, his brother and best friend have called out his bastard status. Though it was all innocent on Robb's part, doesn't mean it didn't hurt. They were playing conquerors, and he told Robb he would be the one to rule Winterfell, and Robb answered that since he's a bastard, he was not allowed to hold lands or titles. That would have been the last of it if not for Theon Greyjoy obnoxious laugh.

Though Robb later apologized, and all was forgiven between the two brothers, in the back of his mind, it stayed with him, and circumstances once more shaped him.

By the time Jon was done with his basic sword training, the sun was creeping from behind the horizons, and he was sweating from his exertions, and his limbs burned just as much from swinging his blade for so long. Filling up the basin with water, he went about cleaning himself and readying for the day to come. 

After dressing in a basic normal wear that was both loose for movement and to hold back the cold, Jon left his room and headed for the kitchen to break his fast. Half way into his fast, Robb and Theon joined him at his table, and not a minute later, he wanted to wring the Greyjoy's neck. Jon honestly didn't Know how Robb could stand Theon. In Jon's mind, Theon was not only an idiot, he was also loud, obnoxious and an overall arse.

Finishing their food, all three heads out to meet up with maester Luwin in the library for their daily lessons. Though Jon hated the lessons, particularly the part that dealt with the politics of Westeros, he knew how important that aspect would be to Robb when he became the Lord of Winterfell. Listening to maester Luwin drone on about the banner man of the north that serves their lord father, Jon allowed his mind to wander to the heroes of old. Jon would never admit this to most, but his four favorite heroes were not men of the north like most children his age. No, his heroes were men from the south, or the far east in most cases. It did not mean he cared for the south or their politics and ways — for he once heard his father complain to his lady wife, but he did enjoy learning of the warriors they gave birth to.

So ever since he learned his letters from the maester, he devoured all the books in Winterfell's massive library. Although the books were few, and the stories scarce, they still held plenty enough to fill a child's mind and curiosity. It was those stories that kept him sane some days and nights when the title of the ‘bastard of Winterfell’ grew too heavy for him to carry on. Though Jon loved his half siblings, he knew he would ever be known as Snow first and foremost to all who heard his name.

Thinking of his heroes, he could not help the small smile on his face.

First was Ser Arthur Dayne. It was said the man was unmatched in combat. With his legendary blade Dawn at his side, a sword that was said to have been forged from a meteor itself, a blade that shines with the brilliance of a star streaking through the sky, shining away the darkness. Said blade was said to be the equivalence of Valyrian steels. The man was a force of nature if the stories were to be true. But what made the man truly dangerous was his ability to master dual wielding, a feat till this day the few brave souls, or those foolish enough to delve in that particular sword style were mediocre at best. According to Jory, when Jon questioned him if anyone could duel wields like Ser Arthur, he proclaimed Ser Arthur was a prodigy with the blade, a man that comes around once a generation.

' _How father managed to beat such a man in single combat is still a mystery to me still_ .' Those were thoughts hidden away from everyone, for Jon knew the look he would have received if spoken aloud. Worse yet, it would only give lady Stark more fuel to fan the flames of her not wanting him in winterfell. He could imagine what she would say-" _look at him Ned, look at how your bastard continues to insult you by claiming you could not have not beaten Arthur Dayne in combat! What more proof do you need to know he is no good, and all he desires are your children rights?"_

The next was Daeron the Young Dragon. The man at only fourteen conquered Dorne, something not even Aegon and his Sister-wives with their dragons were able to accomplish. Though his victory was short lived, he proved there were no obstacles that could not be overcome if a sound mind was determined enough.

Next was Aemon the Dragon Knight. The man was everything a knight should ever be, on the same pedestal with the like of Arthur Dayne in virtue. Choosing the white cloak when his love was refused to him. His sacrifices were legendary. Throwing himself in front of an assassin's arrow for Daeron. Then carrying Baelor from the viper's pit. The man's life was sacrifice after sacrifice, and he was loved by the nobles, but more specifically, the small folks.

Then, there was Ser Brynden Rivers, better known as ‘Lord Bloodraven.’ True he admired all four of those men, Ser Arthur Dayne for his swordsmanship and honor. Daeron for being such a young accomplished conqueror. Aemon the Dragonknight for his honor and sacrifices, but it was Ser Rivers that he held the most respect for. Maybe it was because bastard blood flowed through both of their veins, and maybe that's why he felt such a kinship with a man he only ever read about in books. But the man it seems never let being a bastard stop him, for he was elevated to ‘Master of Whisperers,’ and then as the ‘Hand of the King.’ He served two Kings in his time in King's Landing. It was once believed he was the one truly ruling Westeros. With all that power, he never tried to become King, and when the time came, he chose duty over his own honor. " _Like father did with me_ " Jon muse sardonically. Even in exile as a man of the Watch, he still continued to serve the realm, and just six years short, he went on to become The Lord Commander of the Night Watch.

' _Maybe that's what I should do '_ Jon muse. Join the Night Watch and become something more than just the bastard of Winterfell. “Lady Stark would be proud” he couldn't help but say aloud. Bless the Old Gods his words were spoken too softly for the others to hear when he looked to the other three in the room.. Last thing he needed was more probing into his psyche. But before Jon could think more on it, he was roused from his daydream by Maester Luwin asking him to name all the Bannerman of the North. The chagrin look from Jon was quickly replaced with a look of annoyance when Theon began to laugh in his obnoxious way.

Maester Luwin, though old and frail, and an easy going man in all aspects with his sterned visage, was still a man not to cross when it concerned his lessons. And Theon now held his undivided attention. The old maester eyes burn with a fire while he peers at Theon, and a part of Jon rejoices just a bit in Theon's lack of knowledge.

“So tell me Theon,” Maester Luwin begins in a harsh tone, gone the soft old man with the sterned visage, but quick to wear a smile when speaking to the children of Winterfell. Now stood before them, the maester of Winterfell. “Do you know all the bannerman in the North?” Jon watches as Theon keeps quiet, head down in shame. “Before you laugh at someone else for their lack of knowledge, maybe it should be best that you are knowledgeable first” grumble the old maester. Not waiting for an answer, maester Luwin dismissed the three. “Off you go he spoke,” his soft voice now returns, “I believe you three have training with Ser Rodrick.”

  
  
  


“Gear up, grab a sword and fall in,” yells Ser Rodrick. After gearing up and all three falling in rank with the rest of the trainees, Jon watches with keen eyes as Ser Rodrick surveys them. The man even in his advanced age was still built like a bull. Only his white hair and wrinkles telling you of his age. While his eyes were the eyes of a warrior forged on and off the field of battle, and the way he carried himself letting all know a predator walks amongst you. It's something Jon's observed when he looks at the old warriors, from his lord father, to the lowest of squires that have actually seen combat. Just a few months ago, Jon wouldn’t even have looked so deep into an individual mannerism, or the way they carry themselves, if not for the ghastly voice that accompanied the dreams, telling him to look carefully at those around, learn to spot lies and truths, for everyone is a liar. So he did just that. He watched those around him, and he began to see the tell. Though he was no expert on reading others, let alone adults, he had a basic concept when others were telling false or truth.

  
  


Watching and listening to Ser Rodrick, Jon was impressed, for many things can be said of the man, he was harsh, grumpy, a hard arse on and off the training yard, but none can say he was not deserving of his title as ‘Master of Arms of Winterfell.’ “Alright lads” Ser Rodrick roared, “today we're to practice our stances.” A groan of disappointment was let out by all the trainees, Jon himself included.

"Quiet!” he roared. His booming voice quieted all trainees, even some of the common folk stopped for a mere second to look at the training yard, before they dismissed them and returned to their tasks.

“You foolish lads think battles are won with fancy sword swings, do you think the greatest swordsman started off great? Well?!” He roared. It was a statement, not a question, but one of the recruits thought himself funny when he answered. Jon watches as the old man rushes forward and shoves his face in the boy's face, and a manic smile enters the old man's face. Jon and Robb look to each other and shudder for the pain they knew that would arrive. _“Fuck”_ thought Jon, and not a second letter he curses again when Ser Rodrick made their punishment known.

“Let’s start with the basic stances,” he roared. “I want five hundred swings of each stance.” None said a word in protest, unless they wanted a more severe punishment.

“Now watch carefully as I demonstrate these four stances” — one thing Jon respect of Ser Rodrick, no matter how many times he trained them, before he made them perform any sword stances, he never failed to first perform the stances himself- “The first stance” roar Ser Rodrick “is the middle guard, second is the high guard, third stance is the open low stance, and the final stance is the hanging guard. Not only do I want each stance executed one thousand times each, once you’re done, go to the archery range and let loose five hundred arrows each. None shall leave till the last man is finished!” No one was foolish enough to tell Ser Rodrick he just doubled the amount of swings.

A collective sigh was heard before Jon and the others went about executing what was required.

By the time they were done with their sword stance, then let loose the five hundred arrows on their targets, it was already sundown since their training had begun at midday, and with his lack of sleep and early training, Jon was ready for sleep, no matter how much he dreaded it.

Jon was so tired that not even the hunger he felt, nor the fact he was still drenched with sweat was enough to stop him from retiring to his room and falling to sleep the second his head touched his pillow.

Jon woke up once more in cold sweat, clothes drenched. "That same damn dream.” Jon cursed aloud in the empty room. 

While stretching his aching body to remove the kinks, Jon quickly swiveled his head when he heard a noise coming from his window, and his eyes fell on a crow perched on his window still staring him down without a care in the world, and it unnerved him to no end.

He was not unnerved because a mere crow sat on his windowsill in the middle of the night watching him sleep. No, what unnerved him so was the red eyes on the crow, the same red eyes the crow in his dreams carried.

All this time, he believed what he saw in his dreams were just that, dreams. Now, sitting in his sweat drenched clothes, and looking at the crow perched on his window still, with his red eyes never blinking and watching him, he knew for a fact that his dreams, no matter how he wished they were just vivid imaginations of a child...were indeed real. That unnerved him far more than anything he thought possible, and at the same time, put his mind at ease. “ _It would seem I am not as crazy as I thought... unless this is in fact still a dream_?” 

So he did the only thing that came to mind, he pinched himself, hard, and when the pain hit and he was still looking upon the crow, he knew he was awake.

Looking at the crow’s silence stare, the uneasiness Jon felt in his stomach grew even more. “What are you?” He questioned the bird. When no answer came after a beat of silence, with said bird only answer was a twist of its head, Jon let loose his anger. “What are you?” He seethed. “Since I was five, you have haunted my dreams, and when I thought I was going crazy” —Jon squeezes his hand into a fist from the lack of frustration— “you show up and yet you refuse to answer me. Why?” His questions left him short on breath. After his rant, Jon took multiple breaths to calm himself, and before he could help himself, the boy laughed. A laugh so unlike him, for if anyone knew the boy, would have though him queer, or mad, or both.

“I am truly going crazy, for here I am drenched in sweat, and talking to a damn crow I dreamt off, and expecting it to answer me.” He laughed again, not able to help himself. “Not only will I be known as the bastard of Winterfell, I shall also be known as the crazy one… that also happens to be the bastard of Winterfell.” 

Then like a bolt of lightning, he remembered something the voice told him in the dream, for it was the first time that the dreams changed ever since they started. Jon remembered the voice telling him if he needed answers, just to follow the red eye crow, to not be afraid for he meant him no harm. Now that same red eye crow was now perched on his open window still.

Taking a deep breath, the boy took the plunge. A plunge he knew that would change his life, no matter what happens.

Jon leaves his bed and carefully walks toward the bird. All the while Jon watches as the crow eyed him with his never unblinking red eyes as he slowly approaches, and stops at arm's length. Jon, not waiting to scare the crow, slowly reaches for the bird, and gently lays his hand on said bird. Jon was surprised when the crow stayed put, and allowed him to caress his head and feathers, even leaning forward into the caress. The child in him was both scared and excited. While he continued to caress the crow, Jon looked in his eyes and whispered, “show me where to go.”

As if that was a sign, the Crow unfurled his wings and took flight. Jon watches as the Crow flies in the direction of the Godswood, and not even thinking of the consequences, he rushes out of his room to follow said bird. Jon moves through Winterfell as silent as their namesake sigil, lest he be caught by a wandering guard, questioned, and be sent back to his room. Worse yet, be taken to his Lord father and Lady Stark. Jon wanted neither of the two scenarios to come to pass. Thanks to his and Robb's playfulness of sneaking around at night-to either play or to steal sweets from the kitchen-it was easy to navigate through Winterfell without being caught.

Exiting through the servants door, Jon kept to the darkness, carefully shielding his young form from the sentries roaming about. Reaching the gate to the Godswood, Jon spots the crow on the highest point on the gate watching him. He hesitated for a mere second to contemplate his next choice. “ _True”_ Jon thought to himself, by opening this door and going through it, he knew his life would never be the same. He could still turn back and none shall be the wiser. He hesitated once more, then his mind flashed to his four heroes in the lore of Westeros. “ _Did those four cower before adversities placed in front of them_ ?” Jon thought to himself. “ _No”_ ! His mind screamed at him, “ _they faced them head on, like the warriors they were.”_

With his mind made up, Jon pushes the gates open and walks through its doors. Following the crow, Jon navigated himself through the Godswood, and after walking for nearly fifteen minutes, Jon came upon the Heart Tree and the black lake that surrounds it, and watched as the crow landed on its branches.

Jon looked upon the Heart Tree, and felt awe to be in its presence. It was a feeling he never could grasp, or describe. But looking at the plate tree with its red leaves, and the sap streaming down it’s carved face in a silent scream, Jon felt peace like never before. He never understood why he felt this way whenever he came here, so he never truly questioned it. 

Smiling to himself, Jon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and opened his senses to his surroundings. “ _Peaceful_ ” he thought. Opening his eyes, Jon stares in the carved face on the Heart Tree, and he could feel himself becoming hypnotized by the crying face staring back at him. The more he looked upon the crying face, the more he felt it was staring right through his very soul. So lost he was in the staring contest, he forgot why he first came here until the Crow cawed to regain his attention, and brought him back to the presence.

Looking up and making eye contact with the crow, Jon had to chuckle when the Crow cocked his head to one side as if mad for being neglected. “Sorry for neglecting you little crow… But Now that you have my full attention, why did you bring me here?”

Five, ten, fifteen minute passes before Jon lost all semblance of patience, and he screamed at the crow still perched on the Heart Tree. Pointing his finger at the Crow, Jon let out his anger. “You’ve haunted me with those damn dreams ever since I can remember, and when I believe myself going crazy, you showed up, made me follow you, and now you refuse to say more!” Jon finishes. So workup was the boy, his body was shaking from both anger and annoyance. And all the while, the crow watches him.

Another bout of staring contests took place, that lasted another thirty minutes before Jon gave up.

“This is stupid!” Jon seethed out loud. “You know what?” Jon shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t care anymore.” He chuckles in both amusement and annoyance. As the boy turned to leave, his ears caught a sound in the wind, “Jon Snow" he heard his name being whispered.

Jon whipped his head so fast that he feared he might have hurt himself, and looked to the crow, and with a scared voice. “Did...did you say my name? Jon questions the crow. Once more, silent reign between them, and another ten minute passes with no more response or whispers. All the while, the child watches the crow with piercing eyes, and the crow watches him with its red ones. Jon could swore, the way the bird turns his head, he was just mocking him.

Feeling tired, and not wanting to return to the castle les his name was called again, Jon for reason he could not comprehend walked to the heart tree and laid his back on one of his roots and allowed slumber to take him.

"Wake up Jon Snow." A gravelly voice whispered in his ears. With a start, the young child came awake, but instead of waking up in the godwoods, he found himself in a voidless space so dark that he could not even see his own body parts. His heart sped up, and panic kicked in, and before he could come up with a plan, or raise his hands to defend himself from this unknown threat, the blackness receded, and before him lay an endless sea of white. It was nothing but snow. Pure white snow covered the land as far as the eye can see.

Jon took it all in with awe, he was so in awe, everything else disappeared from his mind for the moment. Born and raised in the North, he never saw snow as pure and beautiful as this. “Beautiful isn't it?” A gravelly voice said next to him. He was so stricken that it took the young child a full second to realize he wasn't alone.

Once realization came to him, Jon jumped to the side and raised his sword arm to face the stranger —Though he had no sword in hand, it was more reflex than anything else— Before him stood an old man with hair as white as snow, with a face full of wrinkles that rivals old Nan. With the bluest of eyes that rivals the sky itself, and dresses from the neck down in a full length black robe so long that it pools on the ground. The two face each other, Jon with a scowl and scared looks upon his visage, and the old man with a face devoid of all emotions. "Don't be scared Jon Snow.” The old man said in his gravelly voice that reminded him of old nan, but lacking all of the warmth.

Jon's eyes squinted even more while contemplating what to do next. " _If worse comes to worse, you can still run, he's an old man, you should be able to outpaced him easily.” —_ Jon did one more overview of the old man _— “And if he were to catch you and his frail form, you could still overpowered him... Wait!”_ His mind roars at the absurdity. “ _How can a frail old man catch me to begin with!”_ Arm still held firmly in front of him. Jon surveys the old man that stood before him.

“Who are you?” Jon asks with a voice of naught but false bravado. The old man all but smirk at the young child. “I am the Three Eyed Crow young one, and welcome to my world! The World of dreams!" Finishes the three eyed crow with a flourish of his arms.

The Crow continues before Jon could question him. “I know you have many questions, but now is not the time to answer them all, for our time is short, but your dreams, those I can answer.”

Jon watches the old man, with his guard still up. "Was everything you show me real then?" Jon asks in a small firm voice.

“Yes, I am afraid they are. The Night King and his army of the dead will decimate Westeros, and the World that lies beyond, lest we stop it. Few that we are.” The Crow went on to show the young child, with just a mere wave of his hand, the snow turning from white to red. Red, as far as the eye can see, and before Jon could ask why the snow turned red, he witnessed the devastation. Before him, the ground was littered with bodies. Bodies of man, women, children, and all types of beast. The red it seems was the blood of the fallen. So much was the blood, even the pure white snow was unable to overcome it.

Jon turns, trying to run, trying to deny what he was witnessing, but he was surrounded in every direction by bodies of the dead, and unable to hold it no longer, he fell to his knees and hands and discharged his stomach in the already distorted snow. Jon further let loose his stomach again when he felt the squishiness under his knees and hands, knowing what he was touching. Rising hastily, he tries to wipe the blood from his hands, but nothing seems to work. The more he would scrubs his hands on his clothes, the worse it became.

“I'm going to be sick again,” said Jon while raising his head upward and watching more snow falls. For it seems, no matter the amount of snow, red was still dominant. " _Can one even be sick in this dream realm_?" He thought, even after he had previously empty his stomach.

Closing his eyes, and knowing the Crow still near. Jon questioned him. "Is this all true…or just a mere nightmare my young mind is dreaming off?”

"Yes young one, all is true. I am sorry to say it is no mere dream.” The finality of those words shook Jon to his core. The old man continued on non-pulsed. “The Night King and his armies shall win if we do not act. There will be no coming back from this devastation. He shall bring a winter so cold that nothing will grow for there will be no fertile land left. The icy winds that follow him shall bring forth a cold that seeps into the bones itself.” Jon with eyes still close, continues to listen to the Crow. He felt no need to run anymore, for he knew there was nowhere to run to in this realm. So he listened to the old man's words, but his eyes shot open when the old man spoke the next words.

“You my boy are one of the keys to stopping him, but we must hurry and start your training as quickly as possible.”

"What do you mean by that?" Jon's answer was quick and to the point, so focused he was on the Crow, he failed to realize they were no longer in the red snow field, covered in the bodies of man and beast alike. But the Crow continued on as if he was not interrupted.

“Are you scared child?” The old man’s gravelly voice whispered out. “There is no reason to pretend otherwise.” Instead of answering the Crow's answer, Jon posed his own set of questions. 

Jon remembered reading a book on ‘Daeron the young Dragon,’ and a philosophy the young dragon followed till his death. when thrust in a foreign scenario, do not panic, take everything in, form a basis, be subtle when questioning those around you, and if possible, trick them into giving you the right answer. Jon eyed the Crow. " _But how can I, a boy of no more than nine truly trick a man like him? A man that appears to be well in age_.” Still he carries on. He needed answers, and this old man held them.

“Is this all truly true, and not just a fevered dream of mine?” He asked the Crow once more. Even knowing the answer already, he still wanted a different answer to his question. A sigh left the Crows lips. “I wish this was but a mere fevered dream, then the world would still be safe when you wake.” The Crow responded in a solemn voice.

Before Jon could continue with his questions, the Crow imposed his own questions to the young child.

“You’ve not answered my question,” said the Crow. “Are you scared?” Jon continued to eye him. _"I could lie, but then again, what would it serve me here_?” Jon gulps first, then squeezes his hands into fist, strengthening his resolve. “Aye,” the boy answered at last. “I'm scared, but”...he paused, “Why me?” A queer look appear on the Crow's wrinkle face. “What do you mean why you child?”

“Why me?” Jon said again. “I mean... I’m no one special” —Jon lifts both of his arms, hands open toward him, searching for something he could not find, could not see— “Tainted blood flows through my veins” he continued to spew out words that were said in disgust. “There are hundreds if not more that are pure blooded, others far better than me.” Jon took a breath to center himself before he continued. “My brother Robb for instance, the blood of the ‘first Men’ flows through him, and he is the most honest person I know. Then there is father, he is the most honorable man to have ever lived, surely they are far better than me.” Jon finished in a small broken voice. A voice no child should ever possess. 

Unbeknown to Jon, the Crow’s eyes darken with hate, pain, and sorrow for the boy, for a member of his shared blood, a shared blood he willingly left behind all those years ago. Yet here he stood, and it took all his will to not rage out loud on behalf of the boy. So the Crow did the only thing he could at the moment...he laughed.

Jon shot him a look of annoyance mixed with pain when he heard the crow’s laugh, ready to lash out, only to stop short when he saw the serious look in the Crow, and the old man's hands raised in a form of peace. 

“Tell me boy, do you think blood is all that matters?” The Crow watches as a look quickly fell and passed over the boy’s face, for if the Crow was not who he was, he surely would have missed it. “It's true of what you've said of those two, but the Old Gods looked unto them, and they fell short, so as everyone else.” Jon was surprised when he heard those. “ _Robb and father fall short_?” Jon couldn't help but to think that this old man, whoever he was, was indeed senile. Meanwhile, the Crow continued his speech. “Fear not young one, for your father and brother shall play a big part in this coming game, but they shall not be the saviors that shall end the Long Night.”

"But?” Jon started to refute the Crow, only to be interrupted by the said old man as if knowing his very thoughts. “Know this young one, the Old Gods care little for the blood that flows through one's veins, and they do not make mistakes of such a caliber. You were chosen by the Old Gods themselves!"

The look of disbelief still stayed on the boy's face, and part of the Crow grew frustrated, knowing he needed the young King to accept his role, he pushed forward. “Tell me, does the blood of the First Men not also flow through your veins?!” Not letting Jon time to answer, the Crow continues to question him. “Tell me boy! Is Brynden Rivers not one of your greatest heroes?! Is he not a bastard?! Let me tell you boy, blood may play a factor in this, but much more is needed to stop the Long Night. The Old Gods believe in you, so believe in yourself, the Crow finished with a flourish of his arms.

“What do you mean is?” Ask Jon. The Crow could only give him a queer look, while scratching his chin with a tilt of his head to the side, perplexed by the boy's answer. “Brynden Rivers Crow. You said ‘is,’ Why would you say such a thing?” Ask Jon with a wide smile.

The Crow blinks three times before he could formulate a proper answer. But in the end none came forth, so he kept his questions to the boy simple. “That was all you heard from my speech?” “Aye!” Jon answered with a gleam in his eyes, while shaking his head up and down with a giant smile on his face.

“Not only do you know that he is alive, but I bet you know where he is too Don't you Crow?”

A snicker left the Crow's old lips, and before he knew it, and even before he could help himself, he was laughing. He hasn't laughed like that in years. Never once did he believe a mere child could bring forth emotion he once thought to have left him. Twice now it would seem the actions of this young child brought forth hidden emotions he thought once buried. “Aye boy, I know Brynden Rivers, and I know where he lives.” He finished with a serene smile.

Giddiness, that’s what Jon felt the most, even in this strange dream he was in. All left his mind when he found out one of his heroes still lived. How Brynden lived still after all this time never entered the boy's mind.

The Crow watches the happiness in the boys eyes, but knowing soon he would have to dim it, had his heart aching.

“Jon, listen to me now.” Walking forward, the Crow lays both of his bony hands on the young child’s shoulders, forcing him to look up at him. “Your training cannot be accomplished while you live in Winterfell. You must come to me… You must cross the Wall.” He finished. Those words sobered the young child fairly quickly. “I know it is a difficult choice I've asked of you Jon Snow, but for the realm to be saved, you must come to me, and the longer it is put off, the worst it becomes.”

“Listen Jon, you are a boy of nine.” “Nine and a half” Jon whispers back. “Forgive me, a boy of nine and half the Crow corrected himself with a smile. You do not need to come to me till you are a boy of ten, that way you can spend sometimes with those you love.” All that time as the Crow explained what needed to be done, his hands on the boy's shoulders never left, never letting the boy feel he was alone.

“How will I come to you if I choose this?” Ask Jon in a small voice. “Worry not about the details for now, for the foundations have already been set in motion. Give me not your decision yet, think it through, and when you are ready, just let the crow know your answer.” Finishes the Crow with a small smile, and a squeeze on the young boy's shoulders.

“The sun is coming up, and you must wake from this dream now. Jon,” The Crow paused making sure the boy’s full attention was on him. “Tell no one. If you were to tell others, they'll think you've gone senile, and knowing your father, he will have you watch more closely, and when the times come for you to come to me...if you so chooses” —the Crow was sure to add— “it shall be far harder to be spirited away from Winterfell and your fathers eyes.” The last part about his father, unbeknownst to the boy was his first test. The Crow wanted to test the child's ability to keep a secret, for if the boy chooses this path, there shall be many secrets he will have to hold close to his heart, before he could find those worthy of sharing them with.

Waking up under the Heart Tree in the Godswood, Jon watches as the sun still behind the mountain begins to illuminate the horizon. Getting up and stretching his sore muscles, he spotted the crow unfurling his wings and took flight. He watches the crow screech and circle the Heart Tree once, twice, then fly down only to perch itself on his left shoulder, talons sinking into his skin, and drawing blood. Jon felt none of it, for he was numb from both the cold from sleeping outdoors and what the Crow showed him.

Petting the crow's head, Jon makes his way out of the Godswood with the crow still perched on his shoulder, all the while not knowing The Three Eyed crow watches him as he walks away.

As Jon reaches the gates of the Godswood, the crow screeches once more and takes flight and disappears from his sight.

Jon exists the Godswoods as quietly as he could so as not to draw any atention to himself, but his efforts were for naught, for not ten feet stood Rob with a queer look upon his face.

“Fuck!” Jon curses under his breath as he watches Robb walk toward him. His mind spun with ideas on what to tell Robb, knowing his brother would desire some kind of an answer, and before he could continue thinking of the proper answer, Robb reached and questioned him. 

“Where were you? When I woke this morning, Arya and I went to your room, and you were nowhere to be found.” Robb squinted his eyes at Jon, then looked toward the Godwoods, then back to Jon. “We searched everywhere Jon, and I had to do everything in my power to stop Arya from crying. Gods Jon! I almost went to father for I thought some harm had befallen you!”

Jon listens as Robb continues on, he watches the pain on his brother's face, and hears the desperation from his voice, thinking something has hurt him. And sweet Arya, his baby sister just shy of five, worrying about him. It was at that point that Jon truly made up his mind. For he knew then and there that learning from the Crow might help the realm, maybe even save it, but the most important thing was the safety of his family. For his family did indeed mean more to him than he first believed.

Before Robb could continue, Jon threw his arms around him and embraced him in a tight hug. It was so sudden that Robb was caught off guard that he couldn't form any words. "I am sorry” Jon whispered. “I did not mean to worry you brother… Forgive me." Jon finished. Once the sudden surprise left Robb, he returned the embrace.

"Of course you're forgiven brother, just don't do it again,” smiles Robb after pulling back from the embrace and locking eyes with Jon. “Aye,” Jon answered, his throat clogged up from holding back his tears. “I shan't scared you and Arya again, I promise.” Jon's heart grew heavy, for he knew sooner than later that was a promise that he would have to break. ‘ _For I shall soon abandon you all_.’ He thought with a heavy heart.

“Come,” said Robb. “Let’s go find Arya and break our fast.” As they turned to leave, Jon looked at the Godswood, and he knew in his heart of hearts that all he was shown was true. ‘ _None were lies_ .’ The Crow he knew kept secrets from him, but the Night King and his army was truth told to him. Jon made a vow then. ‘ _Old Gods hear me, as long there is breath in my body I shall fight to the bitter end to end the Long Night, and to protect my family.’_ Overhead, he heard a screech of the crow coming from the Godswood as if his prayers were heard. Casting one last long look, Jon follows his brother.

**_The Wolf On The Wall_**

****

Benjen Stark loves these long treks beyond the wall. When he was beyond the wall, nothing much mattered but survival. For just one misstep could cause you your very life, or if you happen to be unlucky, the lives of your brothers. With you surviving and living with the guilt of failures. Beyond the wall, when one's mind must be occupied by the mission and survival and nothing more, it stops a man from thinking about their failures in life… And for Benjen Stark, the third son of Rickard Stark, he has many failures in his past he wished he could just forget.

Not a day goes by he does not pray to the Old God to bestow upon him a chance of changing the past. Even knowing it was all futile, still he prayed to the Old Gods to return to the past and to stop the tragedy that befell his family nine and half years ago. The death of his father Rickard, and his elder brother Brandon Stark at the hand of the Mad King Aerys II Targaryen. But most of all, to have the chance to stop the death of his beloved sister, the she-wolf of Winterfell, Lyanna Stark. How he loved her-love her still-even till this day. Seeing her lifeless body when Ned brought her back to be buried in Winterfell, finally truly broke him after all the loss the Starks suffered in that war. That was the true catalyst for him joining the Night Watch. 

Benjen took another breath as the past continued to flood his mind. Another one of his many regrets was abandoning Ned when his brother as the new Warden of the North needed him most, especially with a new wife, and two boys to take care of. Yet he still abandoned them. How he hated himself for his cowardice. ‘ _I should have stayed and helped Ned, especially with the raising of Jon. I should have been a buffer for him and Catelyn’s hate._ ’ He hated his cowardice sometimes.

Oh yes, the man at the Night Watch may call him brave, but in his mind, he was nothing but a coward. A coward that abandoned his family for the ghost at Winterfell grew too strong for him to handle, and since then, the ghosts, especially Lyanna's, plagued him.

So like the coward he was, he had Ned give him his blessing, playing on his brother's nature of being honorable and putting duty first. Not a day goes by that he wishes Ned had refused him. That was the problem with Stark's men, anyone that knew them could manipulate their very nature to their will. He couldn't help but chuckle at the irony really. Each Stark since his father’s had a defined trait that were both strength and weakness, depending on whom you ask that could be used for manipulations.

Rickard Stark, ‘the immovable Wolf.’ For when his mind is made, nothing could change it.

Brandon Stark, the hot headed one. ‘The hot blooded Wolf,’ taking actions first, and not caring of the consequences, and letting others deal with the fallouts of his actions and follies.

Ned Stark, the honorable one. ‘The Quiet Wolf’ that puts duty and honor before his very own life.

Lyanna Stark, the ‘Wild She-Wolf’ that rebels against the norm. Daring to live the life she desires, not what others wanted of her.

While he was Benjen Stark, ‘The Young Pup’ was the naive and cowardly one. The one that ran away from his family and its responsibility by joining the Night Watch. 

Sometimes, when he is alone in his thoughts–oh how he hated to admit them–but part of him blames Brandon and their father for their rash actions by personally going south alone, and demanding anything from the mad king. 

_‘Foolish Fools.’_ Those two were.

‘ _Fuck_!’ The words entered his mind before he could help himself, realizing he was no longer paying attention to his surroundings.

  
  


Beyond the wall, not being focused on the mission was asking for disaster. But for the last fortnight, the ghost of his father, his brother, and of his sweet older sister have hunted both his dreams and waking moment. They were specters that would retreat to the back of his mind while he was on a mission, but lately, not even the mission was enough anymore.

As he sat upon his steed and remanence of the good days in Winterfell, he failed to pay attention to his surroundings, he was not the only one. It seems his two brothers were lost in their mindset, and when realization set in, it was far too late. For the enemy was already upon them.

Benjen back stiffens upon his stead. “Phillips, Thorn,” he whispered. The urgency in his voice alerted his brothers at once. “What is it?” Phillip whispers. “Listen, do you hear that?” Ask Benjen. “I hear nothing,” Thorn answered back. “Exactly! There is no sound, not even the birds are chirping. I believe we're surrounded.” 

“Stop!” Benjen hiss when his two brothers went for their blades. “Leave them sheath, let's allow them to believe we're still unaware of them. Continue to move as if none have changed, and on my mark, we shall make a break for the open roads.”

“Fuck!” Benjen could not stop himself from swearing. In his lamening of the past, he not only endangers his life, but those under his command also.

With all three brothers on high alert, they continue to move forward, commanding their steeds to move just a little faster than normal, and not one minute past before Benjen gives the command.

"Go!” With that command, the eerie silence that surrounded them was broken with the galloped of all three steeds. The three brothers of the Watch weave their steed through the trees with the grace seeing only from the Dothraki riders and Wildlings. It seems that was also the signal for the enemy to attack, for less than one hundred paces was reached before all three horses screeched to a halt, refusing to move forward no matter what their riders did.

While the horses refused to move forward, Benjen and his brothers watched as a fog of pure white slowly began to crawl toward them, and before they knew it, the fog had them surrounded. The fog was so dense that the brothers were barely able to see more than ten feet in front of them, even with the moonlight bright in the sky and illuminating the land. The fog not only limited their visions, it also brought with it an icy cold. A cold that seeped to the bone and took refuge, slowing the movements of both man and beast.

With a command from Benjen, the three maneuver their horses into a defensive stance, their backs to each other and their weapons at the ready. Only sound that was heard was the neighing of the horses and their feet hitting the ground from being too frightened to move forward. Nothing the riders did to soothe the beasts worked. Benjen thought of dismounting their beast, but changed his mind just as quickly. Though the beasts were being uncooperative, it was better to be on the high ground and mobile, than on the ground with snow reaching shin level.

Benjen watches as shadows covered by the fog slowly move towards them. Slow, sluggish movements that seem undeterred from the cold. “I count one,” Thorn whispers. “As do I,” Phillips replied. “Aye, I myself see one, and no more. It seems we're in luck then,” said Benjen in jest. He wanted to remove the fear he felt from his two brothers and himself, for fear make an individual act stupid, and the last thing they needed were idiotic decisions. 

“Why have they not attacked us yet?” Question Phillips. “Are they afraid?” No answer was given, for neither man knew such an answer. Thorn, the youngest and most brazen of the three screamed out his frustration. "Attack us you Wildling whores, or are you shits afraid of the Black Brothers!"

Thorn voice echoes in the eerie quiet night, made even worse when no answer returned, only made even worse when not even the animals were active from the shout. “Not even a damn owl. _”_ Benjen gritted his teeth in frustration.

A part of Benjen knew for a fact, these shadows were no Wildlings, and this fog and cold was not natural. ‘ _Nothing that moved so silently was natural,_ _not even the best of predators are able to stay so still without giving a twitch, let alone not making any noise for so long.’_ Still, he prayed to the Old Gods he was wrong. But knowing his luck, and how cruel the Gods can and could be, he very much doubted his prayer would be answered that night.

With bated breath, the brother waited for the attack. Hours seemed to pass before the attack came, but was truly just minutes–no less than five–and with a growl, all three shadows charged forward, and in the blink of an eye, they were upon them, and Benjen saw what he was fighting, and his heart almost stopped. For nothing in his life could have ever prepared him for this. The first thing that sucked him in were the creature's blue and lifeless eyes, the bluest of eyes he ever laid eyes on. Then looking at their bodies, all three were in different shapes of decay, with one even missing a whole arm, while another with an empty eye socket, with clothes ragged and hanging on their bodies, and with bones protruding from the skin.

Benjen closes his eyes and fills his lungs with air, while sending a prayer to the Old Gods. It took him less than a second, and when he opened his eyes, the enemies were upon them. Calming his distrust steed, Benjen raises his sword, and slices toward the undead that lunged for him.

**_The Three Eyed Crow_ **

After nearly nine years and half of thinking and planning on the proper way of spiriting the young child to him since the vision he'd received from the Old Gods, he has finally received his answer. Watching through the many eyes of the animals he controlled, he saw the ‘First Ranger’ known as Benjen Stark and two of his black brothers desperately fighting off three wights. He watches as one of the Ranger sliced open one wight's stomach with a swing of his sword, and thinking it dead turned his back to help with the other two. Only for said wight to rise again and lunge for his throats and rip it from his body.

The Crow watches as the second brother falls to the same folly as his brother. After taking the legs from the wight, most likely thinking it would bled out, he turned to help Benjen, only for the wight to grasp his legs in its cold dead hands and bite a chunk off, and come back with meat and leather in his bloody mouth. The Crow watches as the black brother screams in pain, dropping his blade before falling on his knees, and the wight jumping upon his back and taking him to the snow, then ripping his throat with his cold dead hands.

The Crow continues watching as the last black brother continues to fight desperately, knowing his end was near, but refusing to surrender all the same. Even with a sprained wrist from when his horse dropped him, he fought on.

“Yes” the Crow smiled, “this man can help, find him before it's too late.” The Crow was quick to send the Children of the forest a psychic message.

It seems today the Old Gods were merciful, for the Children's were but a few hundred meters away from where the man of the Watch were being attack, and said Children of the Forest were hunting said three wights, for it had been years since the last sighting of any wights and their out-worldly masters so close to the wall and civilizations.

The Crow watches as the three arrive on the scene and begin to attack with their flames and setting the three wights on fire and making quick work of the mindless creatures, and being safe, setting the other two dead black brothers aflame.

The Crow watches as Benjen Stark crawls away from the three Children in fright, while leaving a trail of blood in the snow from his wounds. Wounds that the Crow knew if not healed would soon lead to death. A death he could not allow. He continues watching as Benjen Stark fights to keep his eyes open, both from tiredness and loss of blood. But alas, he lost the fight and fell unconscious. ‘ _Yes young one, fight the darkness, let it not take you so easily, fight and live so you can bring the future King to me_.’

The Three Eyed Crow watches as the three children hoist the man on the black elk and begin their journey back to him. ‘ _Yes_ ,’ he could not help but smile. ‘ _Another shift in the threads of fate taking place, another piece in this eternal game taking its place on the board. The realm of man has yet gained another chance to be saved.’_

The Crow smiled.

**_The Un-Broken Blade_ **  
  


A man covered in shadows, leaning against a branch with arms crossed and a bastard sword strapped to his back, watches as the Crow goes through one of his weird trances ‘-warging-’ it was called.

Remembering when he first woke, barely able to move due to life threatening injuries from a blade that came close to taking his head. His hand on their own accords flew to his neck to feel the scar left there. An ugly scar it was, covering half his neck from back to front. ' _Every time I think of that day, this wound though healed, throbs_.’ From what? he did not know, or maybe it was from his failures. But throb it did.

The Crow first came to him in his dreams as a mere old man, speaking to him of what to come, and his role in the game. First he thought death had claimed him, or was near to taking him, and this dream was just his mind readying him for his final journey. Many warriors that escaped death's sweet embrace have claimed such weird dreams. Dreams that made no sense, nor purpose once they woke, dreams put on hold, and delaying death herself for the time being. 

But then, the dreams changed into… for a better word, an imaginable nightmare if a word was needed to describe what he was seeing. Creatures he once read about in books-creatures ‘he’ once dreamt off, and shared with him. With their endless armies behind them, spreading like locusts, offering nothing but death in their wake. No castle tall enough, nor ocean wide enough, or army vast enough that could stop them. Delay was all they offered, but sooner they fell before said plague.

Then he saw him, mounted upon his dead steed, and those blue eyes of his, though this was just a mere dream-till death took him-pierced him to his very soul. His very soul itself shook from fright… from just a mere look. Him, a warrior that fought and won battles others thought impossible, was scared, rendered a useless pup of a child from just a mere look.

Then it all fades away, and a new vision appears before him. But instead of the creatures and their masters, this time it was of a young man of northern looks, arms intertwined with two young ladies with Dornish and Targaryen features and skin tones. Three young adults he never met before, but looked oh familiar to him. But try all he could to bring clarity on the three, his idle mind continued to fail him.

‘ _Why am I being shown this_ ? _Why am I dreaming such a dream?’_ He questions no one in particular. ‘ _I should be seeing my family, those past and yet live. So why this dream?_ ’

While he pondered such inquiries, a roar of thunder interrupted his thoughts, the light that followed was so bright, it left him temporarily blind. But once his vision was restored, two men appeared before him, and they were none other but his two brothers, brothers he also thought dead.

All three brothers regarded each other as naught but apparition. The same look upon their faces-perplexed and full of questions on their lips that refuses to fall.

It was him that imposed the first question, and with careful consideration, the three began to speak. The more they talk, the more they realize how intertwined their stories are. ‘ _This can't be a mere dream...can it?_ ’

Then he appeared to them, after the three had shared all they knew. This old man dressed in all black, white short hair, face full of winkles, and eyes that have seen much, and in possession of so much more knowledge than all three combined, further gutted them with truth they so desperately needed.

“You three!” He began, his wrinkling finger pointing at the three. “Have been chosen to play in this great game of ours.” Though he spoke in a soft and gravelly tone, to the three that stood before him, it might as well as if he all but shout out his answers.

All three had looked upon him with the keen eyes of warriors, warriors that had seen more than most men, and that survived far worse, and with a silent signal from each other, all three took defensive postures.

This old man who's yet revealed his name chuckles seeing that.

The old man before them went on to tell them of how they were saved by men loyal to his Gods, the Old Gods of the Northern people to be more exact. What transpired after, going so far to show all the evils that were committed by the Lions, and how the Stags welcomed it. When that scene was shown to them, the three cried, for the loss of the innocents, for failing in their duties, and most of all, for such a cruel travesty to let happen with no punishments given.

Then, they saw how the Wolf, so sickened, left the Stags and his throne behind, and their friendship shattered forevermore. They were even more surprised when the middle Stag was just as disgusted as the wolf. ‘ _Calling the whole affair sickening for not punishing the Lions. Even worse, giving them a throne sends a precedent on how the new royal family chooses to begin their new reign…’_ A new reign born from senseless murder and rape _._ The three watches as the middle stag continues on, further shattering any semblance of brotherhood. Pointing at the older Stag, he implored a question. “ _Tell me, Did we not wage a war for the rape of your lady?”_

The dream ended as soon as he heard movement.

Opening his eyes, his sight fell on a giant elk carrying upon his back a man of the Watch. From said angle, he was unable to see the man's face. Turning his eyes on the Crow he watches the small smile on his face. Even to this day, knowing what he knew now, it still unnerved him whenever he laid his eyes upon said being and the Children of the Forest.

Pushing off the wall, shadows dance upon his face, as if not knowing what to show to the light. He was a man full grown, with shoulder length hair, hair that was black as night being held in a ponytail. Strong features with the bluest of eyes. A face women would consider ruggedly handsome. Dress in all heavy black clothes that stay the cold away, but still light enough to both move and fight in. 

He couldn’t help but shiver when a small cold breeze hit him. ‘ _Three months in the north, and I’m still not used to the cold.’_

If anyone told him this is the way his life would be turning, he would have just smiled at them, but here he was in the Crow’s home. He remembered when the Crow visited him in his dreams while he lived in secret with the man that saved him and his brothers from death nearly nine years ago to come north. He believed it would have been nearly impossible, but with just another smile upon the Crow's visage proved him how little he knew, and how young and naïve he truly was in the end.

It was far harder to navigate the North than he first thought, but not impossible with his training, and the crow that showed him the way to the wall. He did his best to stay away from the smallfolk and soldiers. Choosing to camp outside instead of taking a useless chance in a town, or an inn where men were too folly and brave for their own good after rounds of drinks in their belly, and bestowing upon them false bravery. ‘ _Best to stay outside_ ’ he had thought.

Throughout his long trek to the wall, he contemplated all the Crow told the three, and for the first time in a long time, honor was not what he thought of… but revenge. All three wanted revenge against those that betrayed them. Their rage combined was near to bursting, so strong was their rage, they were ready to storm King’s Landing and kill the Usurper and his dogs. Knowing they’ll not survive, and not caring. It took the Crows showing them the vision of the true war yet to come that held their sword. 

He remembered resting that night, and dreamt of her. He has yet to shed tears for her, not because he was unable to, because knowing once he starts, he would not have the strength to stop. And in his heart of heart, he truly believed the only way to stop the pain, was to end his life and meet with her in the after. His brothers knew the truth, a truth they came to accept, no matter how they hated the idea.

The only thing that stalled his hand was knowing what lays ahead, and the role the young King and Queens would come to play.

She would never forgive him he knew, if he were to take the cowards way out instead of fulfilling his vows–even though she herself did the same. He could not blame her, for she suffered enough, and he loved her far too much to begrudge her peace–So for now, vengeance was their fuel to continue on.

_'The Lions shall all be rendered as mere kittens before them, the Stags shall be feasted on, the Dog shall be beaten and broken beyond measure, and the Bold shall answer for his treachery_.’ He vowed.

“Oh vengeance shall come for them” he whispered. “They shall all pay when the time comes. For in the end, only the Wolves and Dragons shall stand triumphant.”

Walking toward the elk and the pass out man, he hauled him off the elk and laid him down with as much care as possible, les he injured him further. The features looked strangely familiar, but he could not place them truly, but he would hazard a guess he was most likely a man of the North due to his skin tone being paler than those down South. ‘ _Then again, he might have been on the Wall long enough to lose everything that made him a_ _Southern_.’ He surveys the man for life threatening wounds, finding none, for they were already treated by the Children, he turns his attention to the Crow.

“Who is this man you have brought here?” Though he did not know the Crow for long, he knew the man -creature more likely- never did anything without reasons or cause. “That young one,” the Crow smiles, is the man that shall bring us the young King to train.

A frown fell upon his features from the Crows' answer, or lack thereof. “Not the answer to the question I ask”. He was quick to fire back. The Crow let out a quick laugh, that only made his frown deeper upon his face. “Do not frown so much young one.” Placate the Crow. “As to your answer, he shares the same blood as the King.” His eyes widen in shock at the news, head whip around to once more take the features of the unconscious man before him. “Yes,” he spoke out loud–more to himself than the Crow–“I can see the Stark features clearly now.”

Still looking at their newest recruit, a true smile made itself upon his face without his trying. His heart sang, blood pulsed, he could hardly wait to have the young King here, to begin his training.

' _By the time I'm done with you, none shall be able to stand near you and call themselves your better… and when you are made known to the realm, all shall tremble before your greatness, and be in awe of your grace.’_

* * *

**_Notes:_ **

_Another chapter reedited, and mostly staying the same._

  
  



	3. The Guardians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon confronts his father, while Benjen is forced to learn some truth, that are better stayed dead.

_**A Song of Wolves and Dragons** _  
_**HouseOfEl** _

* * *

_**III** _  
_**The Guardians** _

* * *

_**The Wolf On The Wall** _

Benjen woke with a start, every part of his body hurt, even the smallest of movements were a chore, like the opening of his eyes. Keeping his eyes closed and his senses on alert for movements not his own, Benjen's mind took him to what happened. Last thing he remembered before falling unconscious was bleeding on the snow after being ambushed by those things. Even now, his mind refused to believe they were the undead… Foot soldiers of something far worse he fears. Then he remembered being rescued by those small looking creatures.

Senses on high alert still, Benjen opens his eyes, leaving them into slits -both to allow his visions to adjust to the near darkness, and to survey where he laid without much movement of his head, and without alerting whoever might be near- Once his eyes adjusted to the barely lit room, Benjen slowly sat up.

“Where am I?” Benjen couldn't help to ask himself. Though it was a mere whisper, his voice still sent shockwaves throughout his body, forcing him to close his eyes tight and hold his head from the pain accompanied by the headache.

Head still throbbing, Benjen took a few moments to rub his head and eyes to alleviate the pain. After filling his lungs with multiple deep breath of air, Benjen opened his eyes and surveys the area once more.

First thing he saw was the single fire from the fire pit that kept him warm and responsible for illuminating the area he slept in. Second thing he did was to reach for his sword, only remembering dropping said sword before falling unconscious. Checking his boots, he was surprised both hidden knives were still on his person. ‘Maybe they left them as a way to calm your mind and prove no ill intents.’ His thoughts turn nefarious before he could grasp the full impact of where he was. ‘Maybe they left the knives to better manipulate you? Why save your life if they did not desire some kind of boon in return?’

With those thoughts in mind, Benjen carefully stood up, and was fairly surprised when he put pressure on his sprained leg, and all he felt was a ghost of a pain telling him he had previously hurt said leg. Checking himself over, Benjen found all his wounds were close to being healed, while the minor ones were healed completely with nothing but faint scars as reminders.

Benjen surveyed the area he was in, even with the fire near him, he saw no further than a few feet ahead of him, he was quick to enter a defensive stance when he heard noises coming from his flank. With no further noises, eyes still straight ahead, Benjen slowly squats down and grasps the knife from his right boot, and with his left, grasps a log to serve him as both a torch and a secondary weapon. Benjen waited for nearly a minute before he rose from his crouching position.

Knowing nothing would get done by staying static, Benjen followed the noise.

Benjen moves forward at a slow pace, though he was healed, he still plays on the side of caution, not wanting to further injure himself, or to foolishly rush forward when he had no idea where he was.

It seems that the shadows were playing a game with him, Benjen was quick to realize. It would seem the shadows themselves were moving with him. For every step he takes, the shadow takes three from him. He was further unnerved when the shadows were able to move so silently, while he, even with a torch in hand for illumination was fumbling and hitting himself as if he were a newborn babe learning to walk. The only time the shadows made any noise was when multiple routes appeared before him.

So for nearly ten minutes if his count were accurate, the cat and mouse game continued. ‘So who’s the mouse in this scenario’ he couldn’t help to think. So he chased the shadows, and as he neared, the shadow escaped him and the light. Through all this, Benjen kept his demeanor, never letting his frustration get the better of him. The chase between man and shadow went on for another five minutes until he glimpsed light ahead of him. With caution, Benjen entered and was surprised by the size of the room. Torches hang on the wall illuminating the great area. Looking around the massive room and with the better lighting, if he had to guess, he would estimate the room could easily fit the great hall of Winterfell at least thrice over.

It seems his original thought process was indeed true, those creatures did indeed take him to an underground base. Looking around, this place was a marvel created from the dirt being dug and the multitudes of vines big and small that served as a structure system. To his left, Benjen survives a hole in the ground with light coming from it. Moving toward said hole, he was surprised to see a giant metal bowl with firewood and charcoal waiting to be lit. surveying the hole once more, he located all the necessary items needed for proper smithing.

Benjen could only hum to himself for this new discovery. “This place continues to surprise me every second” he spoke out loud.

‘How long did it take for such a place to have been built? Even more perplexing, for something this big...how was it able to go undiscovered till now? No he quickly corrected his thought process-it is still undiscovered, for I know not where I am.’

Turning from the pit, Benjen continued to survey the area, and not seeing anything important, made his way to the only thing left of interest...the giant weirwood tree that sat in the middle, and who’s roots made the foundation of this underground palace.

Walking toward the weirwood tree, Benjen felt his senses kick in, and stopped dead in tracks without meaning too. Commanding his body to move, Benjen was once more surprised he took no more than three steps before his body once more seized up and stopped on their own accord.

What is this? He whispered to himself, perplexed. It could not have been just fear, he felt fear when those things attacked him. This...if he were to give a name would still elude him for no words came forth.

Taking control once more of his body, Benjen looked to the ground as he watched his feet take one step at a time, only stopping when his eyes took notice of a giant root. Realizing he reached the weirwood tree, Benjen had barely looked up before he had to jump back in a defensive stance, torches pointing forward, and the knife held in a lunging stance.

His instinct roared at him to run, but the most he could do was stare, stare at the one red eye that glows with power… Power that rooted him to his current spot.

Benjen felt nothing but horror as he looked upon this thing… this skeletal being twisted amongst the roots of the weirwood tree. He broke out of his stupor when the thing spoke.

“Do not be afraid, young one.” The voice spoke out in his gravely tenure, breaking Benjen out his stupor.

The man, or what passes for a man raises one of his skeletal hands, and beckon Benjen forward. Benjen eyed him, not knowing what the right course of action was. But in the end, he chose to move forward, because just like he thought when he first woke up, they needed something from him, so for now, he was somewhat safe. Plus with his knives and torch in hand ‘-wouldn’t take much to burn the tree.-’ He would give them a fight if death were to come from this thing.

Stopping at arm's length, man and creature locks eyes.

Benjen watches with a sense of dread and fascination as he surveys this man before him. ‘No, not a man.’ He was quick to change his thoughts. ‘This was a thing in human shapes, a being that should exist only in fairy tales… Then again, the dead should be just that...dead.’ He couldn’t help but to think.

As silence continues to reign, man and creature surveys each other.

From his position, Benjen surmised that this creature was using the weirwood as a means of survival for the way the branches twist and supported his body, for something this decrepit and old couldn’t have survived otherwise.

This thing in a man shape possesses pale skin as white as snow, with his hair paler still and cascading around him, so long that it reaches the ground. ‘Most women would kill to have that amount of hair. Benjen couldn't help but to picture his sweet niece, though Northerner, acted more Southerner taking great care of said mane of hair. One eye red and glowing, with the other socket empty with a branch of the giant tree that serves as his throne coming out of said socket.

‘Yes,’ Benjen thought, this was no man. ‘So for now, playing along is the best course for survival’ were the thoughts that came to mind. Even though they saved him, that meant nothing in the long run. For he knew, saving him was just part of their plans. For what? He knew not.

‘Do not be afraid Benjen Stark.” If Benjen was unnerved that this being knew his name, his outward appearances showed none, but on the inside he was wrecked with emotions. Fear being the strongest, with answers the second.

“I am the Three Eyed Crow.” The being now identifies himself continued. “It was I and my friends that saved you from death against the wights.” Benjen watches as the darkness shifts, and six small creatures appear before him. Just like the being before him, they too were queer looking. Far smaller than any man he's ever laid eyes upon, equal to only imps in statures-maybe a few inches taller, or closer to a child near ten- They all possess nut brown skin, large ears, if Benjen was a gambling man, he would claim those ears also allowed them to hear better than any man, maybe even some animals. Large slitted eyes like that of cats, and watching the six, two had mossy green eyes, while the other possessed blood red eyes. While their hands only carried three fingers and a thumb, with sharp black claws instead of nails.

“What are you?” Benjen imposed on the Crow. “You look like a man, but no man I know looks like you.”

Benjen frowned when the so-called Crow smirked at him instead of answering his answer, while the small creatures looked on with little to no interest. Benjen knew he needed a different approach then. “Can you at least tell me your true name then?”

“My name matters not, young one.” The Crow answered after a beat of silence. “For you see, even I have forgotten it since I had no use for it here beyond the wall.” The Crow contemplated his next answer. “If I remember correctly, the last time I used it was near sixty years ago, while my friends here do not care enough for names. But if you insist, you can refer to them as the First Men once did, The Children Of The Forest."

A look of shock passed over Benjen's face when the name was spoken out loud. “The Children Of The Forest?! But how?” He stammers. Question assaulted his mind, and before he could put them forth to the Crow, he was interrupted by said being.

“Young one, your questions can wait, your wounds have not healed completely, and for the task ahead to be accomplished, you will need to be at full health, both mind and body” The Crow whispered to Benjen. So low that Benjen almost missed it. ‘What does that mean?’ Benjen didn’t know, but he would find out soon enough.

“Fear not Benjen Stark, though this place may not be much, it is still my home, and I know the way of guest rights.” Once more it seems this being known as the Three-Eyed Crow was two steps ahead of him by knowing what he was thinking off. Either he was perceptive or he was a mind reader. ‘By the Old Gods he wished it was more the former than the latter’ Benjen prayed.

“I do not possess the bread,” continued the Crow, “but salt and water I have plenty off.” Benjen follows the Crow skeletal fingers to a wooden cup a few feet from them. Walking over the cup, while still keeping his eyes on the Crow and the so called Children, Benjen dropped the torch and bent down and grasped the cup. Looking into the cup, Benjen surmised the salt was already in the water for he could not locate any in the vicinity.

“It’s not poison,” said the Crow.

Benjen couldn't help but smile at the wording. “I would hope not,” Benjen answered while looking into the cup. “Very well then, I accept your guest rights lord Crow.” And with that, Benjen drank deep the salted water.

After drinking the salted water, Benjen put forth an inquiry to the Crow. “I assume since I'm the only one here, my two brothers did not survive the encounter with those creatures?”

Silence from the Crow was all Benjen needed to know the fate of his two brothers.

“Much is required of you,” the Crow at last broke the eerie silence. “You must rest before we can begin, follow the lights, they shall take you back to your resting site.”

Benjen took his leave from the Crow with a heavy heart. ‘More brothers I could not save.’ He couldn’t stop himself from thinking.

Arriving at his bedding site, Benjen knelt and prayed to the Old Gods for his brother's souls. “Your watch has come to an end my brothers” were the last words he spoke before darkness claimed him.

_**The Three-Eyed Crow** _

Unbeknownst to the Ranger, the Three-Eyed Crow watches him leave, then through his many eyes continued to watch as he knelt and performed his prayers for his fallen brothers. He was interrupted by one of the children addressing him. “Can he be trusted?” Without giving the Crow a chance to respond, she carries on. “For the task ahead can break any man, no matter how strong they are...or appears to be.”

“I believe he can be trusted to a certain point,” the Crow spoke up after a beat of silence. “But more importantly, I believe him to be strong enough for the journey ahead. For in his hand, he can either give the realm of man a fighting chance, or doomed them for ever more. I believe once he learns the truth, he shall come to our side.”

The Crow watches the look of mirth on her face. “Don't you trust me?” He inquires. Playfulness still in place, she answered his query. “Oh we trust you young one, it's man we do not trust.”

“I was a man once upon a time,” said the Crow. “You were never just a man she answered back...not really.” She waved her hands in a circle, and smacked her lips, searching for the words in the common tongue. “You were always special,” she continued. “There are few that are as special as you young one… and that man is not like you.”

“He is honorable.” He couldn’t help answer her back. Defending Benjen Stark, let alone another race not the Children left a strange taste in his mouth. The Crow watches as the mirth never left her face. Sometimes he forgets, no matter how old he is, or appears to be...to the children of the forest, he is naught but a petulant child that sometimes needed to be scowled for thinking he knew better. Sometimes he forgets how old they truly were, or how young he truly was.

With a heavy sigh, the Crow tried on convincing them. ''It is true that men are more destroyers than they are creators, but even you have witnessed the powers they possess when they choose to be creators, rather than destroyers. The Old Gods have shown us a means to battle our old foes. Though he is but one of the puzzle pieces, if we can convince Benjen Stark to bring the child to us, so we can begin his training, our fighting chances though slim goes one step higher. And I believe that is better than the percentage we're currently at. Don't you all think so?”

The Children still stayed quiet still. Part of the Crow knew why, but at this important precipice, he needed them on side at all cost. So he made another plea to his teachers.

“So please my friends, help me save this world by first convincing him.” The Crow was surprised when she chuckled at him. The sound, like music to his old ears, a soothing balm on both his old tired body and soul.

“You've not changed since the day you came to us.” She began. “still the child that throws a tantrum when you don't get your ways” -If anyone else were to ever refers to him as a child, he would have laughed at their folly and lack of knowledge, but she was one of the Children, and to her, he was nothing but a child, no matter how old he appears- “worry not child, we shall help him.” she finishes with a smile.

The Crow himself couldn’t but to return the smile.

It was close to three days before Benjen returned to the throne.

The Crow watches as Benjen approaches them with careful measures steps, dressed once more in black, with one of his hidden knives strapped to his waist, and his hand on the pommel, ready to unsheath it on his enemies. The Crow smiled at the obvious treat. The boy would die before he could even remove the blade if he were ever deemed a threat. But alas, he needed the boy to play his part of the game.

“There is no need for weapons here my friend.” The Crow watches the boy’s face switch from passiveness to a scowl.

“You knew I had these two knives, yet you did not remove them. Why?” Bejen asked, his scowl still in place.

“Is It not obvious? I desire your trust and help, I find removing your weapons would be counterproductive would it not?” The Crow was quick to answer.

A queer look fell upon Benjen's face. “My trust and help” he questioned. “Why?” Benjen took a few more moments to adjust himself. “I may just be a man of the watch, but I'm not foolish enough to delude myself into thinking I am something more. You and your friends,” with that said, Benjen cast a look upon them, only to return on the Crow, “are anything but weak. I've seen only a little” -Benjen once more sweeps his eyes around the room, and slowly shifts himself when he feels movement coming from the entrance behind him- “are many things, and one of those is power. ”

He couldn’t help but smile at the boy warrior instinct. The way he casually shifted, only given the entrance half of his body, while his left hand so casually tightened around the handle of his knife. Anyone else could have missed those signs. ‘Good thing I am not anyone else, let him believe I am unaware, let him believe he is in charge.’

“Ah yes Benjen Stark, we do have power, but sometimes, power is not all that is needed. Sometimes” the Crow smile, “it is finesse that is required.”

“I see” Benjen answered after a beat of silence. “Very well then” Benjen continued. “You've saved my life, fed me and healed me back to health. I know not what you desire, but the least I can do is listen to your tale. Plus, my curiosity has peaked ever since those things attacked me and killed my two brothers. But before we begin, tell me, how long have I been in this place?”

“A week.”

“A week!” Benjen couldn’t help but exclaim. “I've been here for a week,” he repeated again, this time in a softer voice. “We were to report back to Castle Black four days ago,” he continues to whisper to himself.

The Crow couldn’t help but to scowl at the boy’s lack of understanding and the importance of saving his life. ‘Humans’ he couldn’t help but to think, ‘such small minded and idiotic things.’

“Calm yourself boy.” The Crow grumbled.

“You don’t understand,” says Benjen while running his hand through his hair in frustration. “This mission I was on was no ordinary mission. It was…”

“I know” the Crow interrupted Benjen’s rant. “Your mission was to look into the so-called King Beyond The Wall.”

Not letting Benjen have a say, the Crow continues.

“Tell me, child? Do you believe your Commander to be of just mind.”

“Of course” Benjen was quick to answer. “Commander Mormont is a man of honor and good judgement, and with Maester Aemon by his side, his decisions, though hard, always benefits the realm and the watch.” The Crow couldn’t help but smile when the name of Aemon was mentioned. He missed his old friend very much. In his past life, only a handful were elevated to said level, and Aemon was one of those rare beings. ‘You would have made a great King. You should have been King.’ He scownerfully lamented.

Coming back to himself, he interrupted Benjen’s rant. “Then I believe your Commander Mormont will not lose his mind if you are late. So sit, listen to my tale, and once finished, you are free to go.”

“I had hoped to speak to you first before I showed you the possible future, but you are right, time is of the utmost essence, not just for you, but for us as well. Come forward young one and place your hand on the tree, and all shall be revealed to you.”

“Why? Questioned Benjen with a look of distrust on his face. “As I said before Crow, you've saved my life, and for that I am indebted to you, but it does not mean I shall blindly do what you ask of me without a proper explanation. Especially since I do not know your names.”

A scoff left the Crow’s throat at the boy’s stubbornness.

“What is a name!” His gravelly voice turned hard. His one red eye appeared to glow even brighter in the room. “As I said before, child. You may call me the Three Eyed Crow, and these, the Children of the Forest.”

When Benjen made no effort to come forward, the Crow lost some of his patience.

“Do not forget the promise you made when you accepted ‘guest right,’ Benjen Stark!” The Crow all but growled out.

With scowl in place, Benjen walked forward and placed his palm on the branch closest to the Crow. Knowing arguing was useless with these beings. Less than a second pass before a look of horror passed over his face. No more than twenty minute passed before he woke from his dream with a scream that echoed throughout the chamber.

“What was that?!” Benjen demanded, his eyes wide and wild, in both shock and horror. His breath labored, and his heart beating so fast he swore it would jump out of his ribcage.

“That young one is the end of the world. What you saw was the Night King, his Generals and the wights, his personnel army of the dead.”

“What can I do to stop such a large force?” Benjen whispered out. “Not even the night watch would last more than a second against such a horde.” Not paying any heed to anyone else but his own thoughts, Benjen began speaking his thoughts out loud. “Ned.. Yes Ned” he all but screams. “He can convince Robert to rally the realm, then we might stand a chance.”

“Calm yourself child!” Though his voice was soft and calm, a strength was felt in them, and that stopped Benjen cold.

“I did not share that vision with you just to let you leave and to die needlessly. Now remember, what else did you witness? Close your eyes, remove the fear, the helplessness, what else did you witness?” The Crow imposed on Benjen.

A look of concentration appeared on Benjen's face as he followed the Crow's instructions. “I saw the army of the dead, this Night King, his Generals and his wights?”

“Yes, and what else?” The Crow presses on

“By the Old Gods! Were those beats Dragons?”

“Yes Benjen Stark.” The Crow’s timber voice answered him.

“He commands them.” It was not a question, and Benjen knew the answer even before the words left his mouth.

“What else did you see?” The Crow pushed on. He observed as Benjen crossed and squeezed his arm so hard that you could hear the leathers he wore straining, as a way to start his hand from shaking from fright.

Benjen took a deep breath to steady himself before he began to talk again. “I saw an army of the living, an army made up not just of Westerosi, but Essosis. They were led by two young women and one young man. The first young women carried the violet eyes of the Targaryen, pale skin, and long, pale silver-gold hair that fell to the middle of her back. While the other young women with olive skin, large dark eyes and long, thick black hair that falls in ringlets to the middle of her back. The young men that stand with them…” Benjen's eyes shot open when he remembered that young man's features, his eyes blown wide and locked into the Crow’s one red eye. “Who is he?” His voice came out weak, broken and scared.

“Go on,” the Crow ordered him. Finished describing him.

Benjen at this point had no need to close his eyes, for he knew that face all too well. It was a face he saw whenever he journeyed to Winterfell, a face he wished he could have done better by, but being a watcher on the wall afforded him little. Benjen licks his suddenly dry lips, only to smack them. One, twice before he could continue. “The young man possesses the long face of the Starks, with dark, brown hair and grey eyes so dark they almost seem black.” He stopped before he could say the name out loud, thinking if he kept them to himself, then he could deny the truth, but one look from that red eyed creature destroyed those thoughts.

“Jon Snow”

Benjen finally whispered, and Benjen could have swore he tasted the magic in the air. It seems his nephew's mere name being whispered carried such weight and power in this room.

“Speak your mind Benjen Stark.” The Crow broke the eerie silence that engulfed them. Watching the boy on the ground on his knees, his belief in life shattered by so much and so quickly, should have warranted some form of sympathy from anyone else. ‘Shame, I am all there is. Let us see how useful you shall prove to me.’ The Crow thought with no care while looking down at Benjen, making sense of the revelations giving to him.

“Can those visions be averted?” Benjen asks, unshed tears in his eyes.

The Crow pierced him with his red eye, and instead of answering Benjen’s question, he imposed his own without any sympathy. “Did witnessing their death break you so Benjen Stark? Perhaps your tears are for your abandonment of the boy instead?

“Don’t you dare!” Sneer Benjen. His tears now gone, his weakness disappeared. Now, anger took the forefront.

“I dare!” Begin the Crow, “because I can, because I am... The Crow stopped short, and both he and Benjen turned to see a look of annoyance and disappointment on the faces of the Children. After a few looks between the Children and himself, the Crow turns back to benjen.

“As to your question on averting those visions, they are but possible futures bestowed to me by the Old God that shall come true if we do nothing about it.

“What's my goal in all this then?” Benjen asks. “I do not believe for a second that you rescued me without a reason.”

“Your part is simple, Benjen Stark... You shall bring us Jon Snow. so we can begin his training.”

“No! You can't ask that of me” Benjen all but roared after jumping to his feet to pace. All the while calling false to the Crow’s words, and not wanting to make anymore sacrifices.

“You know I speak no false child.” The Crow answered in a hard tone, stopping Bejen’s pacing, and forcing him to look at him. “And your sacrifices are nothing compared to what that child future is asking of him.”

Benjen’s eyes were wild. Wanting to deny everything. “What makes you think Jon would ever come here to begin with?”

The Crow had to give it to the boy, his questions held merritts. “I have already spoken to Jon many times in his dreams.” -As the word left his mouth, the Crow watched as Benjen slowly fell apart- “and he has begun readying himself for the journey.”

_**Master At Arms** _

‘Something had to be done.’ It seems that unbeknownst to all, Jon Snow, the bastard of their Lords, has been slipping out in the middle of the night and disappearing into the godswoods, only to reappear before the break of dawn, looking worn and tired. When it was first brought to his attention by one of the guards that caught him leaving the godwoods one morning, he assumed he was just playing at being a child for once. He even believed he was being mischievous, he was not happy about it, but that child was too serious for its own good sometimes. Not even their Lord was such a serious child growing up. ‘Then again, bastards are forced to grow up faster than others.’

Then more guards started reporting more sightings of the boy entering the godswoods when all was meant to be asleep, and reappearing at the break of dawn worn and weak, he knew his Lord was to be told, but first, he wanted to capture what the boy was doing first.

So throughout the next two days not only did he watch the boy closely, but when he was unable too, he enlisted the help of the guards into helping him. It seems the boy was more demure than before. Where he used to scowl and attempt to fight the Greyjoy for bringing to light his status as a bastard, all he did now was to tune him out. That just pissed Theon even more, and in essence tries to further infuriate him. The boy also paid no mind to the maids gossip about him either. Now, he neither scowl nor brood, he became indifference from all forms of gossip mentioning his bastard status.

In training, The boy was a whirlwind, beating most boys his age in swordplay, before he was equal to the boys his age, now he was a near unstable beast. His swordplay, if he was honest, was not only far better than most boys, so was his footwork.

“It’s as if he became a prodigy overnight,” he mused to himself. The boy was always gifted in the handling of swords, but now, his level of growth was close to being unheard off. “If he keeps this level of development, in a few months he would be beyond them. In years, he’ll have no equals in Winterfell.”

His archery and lance were the only two lacking, with Robb beating him most of the time with the lance, and Theon in archery.

Another thing that perplexed him when one of the guards reported to him was his sudden interest in learning. According to the guards, when he wasn't training or performing his tasks, he was in the library reading books. True, Lord Stark made sure his children were well read, but none of them like the lectures Maester Luwin ever give them. Though he likes the man, he would be the first to claim Maester Luwin was a bore with his lectures. So boring and stiff his lectures were, he could force the most disciplined of man to perform suicide just to escape his lessons.

The only time the boy was happy, truly happy was when he was with his siblings. Arya, Robb and Bran to be more exact. While Sansa, like her lady mother was aloof to the boy, only acknowledging him as a brother when she had no choice.

So on the fifth night, he decided it was time to confront the boy. Enlisting his nephew Jory Cassel help, they waited for the boy to make his move. Not long after the whole castle was asleep minus the guards, they watched as the boy escaped through the maids exit. Rodrik and Jory watch as the boy maneuvers the yards, making little noise as possible, and using the covers of darkness as his shield to escape to the godswoods.

“He's good,” whispered Jory, with obvious approval in his tone.

“I know” Rodrik gumbled back. His mood already sour. For if a child could slip past the guards so easily, a boy with no ill intent, what would an enemy accomplish if the roles were reversed. As master of arms, the boy without his knowing just proved his job a failure. ‘I’ll need to bring this up with the Lord next we converse.’

“The way he moves” Jory continued not knowing his uncle's troubled thoughts. “If I didn't know better, I would have claimed he's been doing this for far longer than just a mere week.”

“Maybe he has,” answered Ser Rodrik with a grumble. Another important piece of information he was missing.

“You seem to be impressed with the boy, nephew?” Said ser Rodrick while looking at his nephew from the corner of his eye.

“Of course I’m impressed.” Casting his nephew a critical look that was meant to serve both as a scolding and demands he continues, seems to have failed. All it did was amused him, if the smirk on his lips were any indications.

“Don't scowl uncle, the boy’s a bastard.” Not caring with the scowl sent his way, Jory continues. “In the end, when the boy is a grown man, few options are open to him, something he has already realized, so If he's able to improve his fighting prowess, and stealth, who am I to judge.” Jory finishes with a wave of his shoulders.

With a grunt Ser Rodrik walked forward, not caring to see if his nephew was following or not. ‘That nephew of mine is too laid back, even as the Captain of the guards, most everything to him was taken in as mere amusements. Event this event. By the Old Gods, why?’ Ser Rodrik groaned. His only form of answer was a chuckle from Jory as if he read his inner thoughts.

Entering the godwoods, all amusement left Jory's face. 'It seems the man could be serious when the need is asked of him.’ Rodrik observed. Both warriors made sure to keep their steps light so as not to give away their positions as they stalked the young boy, using the darkness, the forest and trees as covers.

Arriving at the edge of the pond that separates the heart tree, they spotted Jon Snow. What surprised them was what he was up to. Instead of being mischievous like they believed he was being. The boy was instead training. Ser Rodrik and Jory watched as the boy practiced different stances, and how he was combining them and flowing through them, though not flawlessly, it showed he was skilled. Some of the stances he knew he never taught the boy.

Ser Rodrik had to admit, the boy impressed him, his determination was unlike anything he ever witnessed from one so young, and it seems his nephew was just as impressed, if the light in his eyes and the grin on his face were to be the judge.

Ser Rodrick and Jory continue to watch as the boy continues to practice for another hour before leaving. All the while not knowing far above them, the watchers themselves were being watched.

“What's next uncle?” Jory question. Ser Rodrik was crossed. Clearly the boy was trying to be a better swordsman, but at the same time, it was his job to inform the Lord if any one of his children were being a danger to themselves, bastard or not.

Instead of answering his nephew's question, Ser Rodrik proposed his own. “What say you nephew, do I leave it be? Or report this to our Lord?” It took Jory a while to answer, and when he did, Ser Rodrik had never felt more proud of his nephew. For he was finally growing into the man his brother would have been happy to witness.

“If we let this be, he might end up hurting himself, worse yet die. If that happens, it shall be on our hands. But if it's reported to Lord Stark, he shall be scolded and possibly punished. Though both options are not what I would have desired, it's our duty as bannerman to the Starks to report something like this to our Lord.”

“Good answer nephew.” Exiting the godswoods, Rodrick eyes took in his surroundings and scowled, because after standing for nearly ten minutes in the open, no guards were yet to spot him and his nephew.

“Go to sleep nephew, for I have much to think about.” Without waiting for an answer, ser Rodrick took his leave.

_**The Honorable Wolf** _

Lord Stark woke up with a troubled mind. Intuition told him something was afoot, and he won't like the outcome. The dreams of the past made his morning even worse. Especially Lyanna's death, and the promise he made to her.

Ned was always a quiet man, but this morning as he broke his fast with his family, all in attendance, even the servants were aware of his mood. None more so than his lady wife. By the Old Gods he loves that woman. Not a day goes by he doesn't thank the Gods for her and the four children she gifted him with. Though they have had their disagreements on certain terms, they're loyalty and love were true. Not many could claim such a thing from an arranged marriage.

Grasping his hand in a show of affection, she whispered to him her worries. “What ails you my love? You've been more quiet than usual.” Squeezing her hand back as a way of thanks, and before he could respond, Jon walked through the doors, and he watched as the light from his lady wife's eyes dimmed just a little with the mere presence of the boy.

A sigh escaped his mouth. His lady wife never liked the boy, for Jon was a constant sour mood between them, no matter how much time had passed. It seems her loathing and indifference for the boy only grew as the boy aged. For not only did Jon resemble a Stark far more than Robb, the rightful heir to Winterfell, but Robb and Arya and Bran loved him without fault.

Looking over his vassals he caught the eye of Ser Rodrik, his master at arms, his nephew Jory, his captain of his guards, and with a mere look, he knew he needed to see the two, and whatever was needed to be said, it was of importance.

“What is it?” Catelyn questioned.

“It seems that Ser Rodrik and Jory need something of me. I want you and Maester Luwin there as well, I might need different opinions regarding its importance.” Replied Ned.

“Of course my love” Catelyn answered with a small smile on her face. If anything can be said of his wife, no matter their differences, when it came to their children and the running and safety of Winterfell, he could always place his trust in his lady to offer a different perspective, and do the right thing.

Once fast was done, Ned and Catelyn left the great hall, and with a silent nod, Ser Rodrik, Jory and maester Luwin followed.

At his solar once everyone was seated, minus Jory choosing to stand by the close door, Ned looked on to Ser Rodrik, and waited.

“It's about your son, my Lord” he began. Only for Catelyn to interrupt him before he could go any further.

“What's wrong with my boys Ser Rodrik? She all but growled.” A quick pained look that left just as quickly as it entered Ser Rodrik eyes, and Ned knew who he referred to.

“It's about Jon isn’t.” Ned whispers. It wasn't a question.

"Aye my lord.” Answered Ser Rodrik with a small shake of his head.

A look of indifference entered Catelyn eyes, while a look of hurt entered Ned. He sometimes wished his wife cared more for the boy, but alas, it was a fools dream. With a nod from his Lord, Ser Rodrik begins his tale.

“A week ago my lord, one of the guards came to me and reported that he witnessed young Jon Snow leaving the godwoods before daybreak. At first I thought he was playing with young Robb, so I paid it no mind. Until the same guard reported the same sighting to me the next day. This time, when he exited the godswoods, he looked worn and tired.”

“Why did you not bring this to me earlier Ser Rodrik?” Ned calmly questioned. It honestly took all of his will not to interrupt his master at arms when he began his tale, but he knew if Jon was indeed in serious trouble, he would have begun his tale with that information first. So after questioning him, Ned camly waited for his answer.

“I wanted to have the full truth before bringing this before you my lord.” Ser Rodrick answered him. I apologise for taking too long.” Ned was quick to wave away his apology with a gesture from his hand.

“So tell me Ser Rodrik, did you acquire all the evidence then?” Ned asked while leaning back on his seat. He made eye contact with everyone in the room, and each was eager and on their seats to learn more. Ned could understand the eagerness from maester Luwin, but the fact that his wife was just as eager perplexed him. Ned came back to himself the second ser Rodrick began speaking.

“Aye, I did my lord. I enlisted the guards to watch him, and they all claimed his behavior was queer. For instance my lord, young Snow spent as much time in the training ground, as he does in the library.”

“I see,” interrupted Maester Luwin after staying quiet through the proceedings. All eyes turned to him, and with a look of embarrassment he explained. “For the past four months my lord, books have been misplaced in the archives. With some even disappearing for a time, only to be brought back. Until now, I always assumed my memories were leaving me, and I was failing at my duties as Maester to you and Winterfell. Forgive me for not telling you earlier my lord, I did not want to be seen as a burden, or worse, forced to leave. Though I am not Northern born, this place has become my home, and I did not want to leave.”

Ned was quick to waved away his worries. “Fear not Maester Luwin, you are family, and I do not cast family aside for such trivial things.” Ned could both see and hear the breath and weariness leaving maester Luwin’s body from his explanation. His words were true, he had no reason to just abandon a man that has served the Starks and Winterfell for so many years, but as Lord Paramount, he needed to make certain things clear.

“Though you are considered family” Ned begans, eyes locked on with maester Luwin. “You must also remember you do not serve just the Starks, or Winterfell, but the North as a whole. The smallfolk rely on the Starks to have their best interest at heart, and I rely on my advisors to help me make the best judgement.” Maester Luwin opens his mouth to speak and defend himself, only to close it when Ned raises his hand. “Your mistake, though small, left alone would spiral beyond our control if your memories truly did begin to leave you. But” Ned took a deep breath when he watched maester Luwin cast his eyes downward in shame. “You are family maester Luwin, and I do believe family comes first.” Ned finishes with a small smile, telling his maester all was understood and forgiving.

“Of course, my lord” maester Luwin replied with a bow of his head.

Turning his eyes back to Ser Rodrik, Ned nodded his head, telling him to continue his story. Ned watches as Ser Rodrick took a second, shift in his chair to get comfortable before continuing his story.

“Once I heard all I needed, I decided to see with my own eyes, but I also believed another pair was even better.” —Rodrick pointing to his nephew by the door without even turning around or wasting time— “That's where Jory played a role. I believed if anyone can have a better understanding, or catch something I have missed, why not have the eyes of the Captain of the guards. Once night came we waited for Jon to make his move.” —Ned was on his seat, and he was surprised when even his wife was just as eager to know what Jon’s being up too— “He waited till the whole castle was asleep, using the servants' part of the castle to enter and exit without being seen. The way he moved through the darkness and made it his shield even impressed my nephew, that's how good he is. If no attention was being paid to him, I don't believe he would have been caught. More so, I believe him being caught the first time was merely a coincidence, no more, no less.”

Watching Ser Rodrick explain the way Jon was able to sneak about surprised Ned, but what surprised him even more was the look of pride in his master-of-arms eyes. Looking at the other occupants in the room, Ned was not the only one that bore witness to the display Ser Rodrick tried to hide.

“Before I continue my lord,” Ser Rodrick interrupted, his thought process, “I would apologize for my failures.”

Leaning forward on his seat, Ned was perplexed . “What failures do speak off?”

“Jon Snow proved one thing to me my lord, the security in Winterfell is indeed laxed, especially at night.”

“What do you mean?” It was Catelyn that voiced her opinion this time. Ned was surprised she kept quiet. Looking at his Ser Rodrick, he gave the man the permission to continue.

“I have come to realize that, if an enemy were to ever infiltrate us, we would be dead before we knew anything.” Ned spies his wife's hands shaking in the mention of an enemy killing them in the night before they could put up a fight.” As important as that was, he needed to return the conversation back to his son nocturnal activities for the time being.

“We shall speak more on the security of Winterfell, but for the time being, let us tackle one problem at a time. Continue on Jon’s nightly activities please.” If the scowl on his wife's face was any indication she hated the idea, he paid it no mind.

Ser Rodrik composed himself, then he continued his story.

“We followed him to the godswood, where we witnessed him practicing his swordsmanship and footwork.” —Ned was surprised, of all the things he’d imagine, Jon teaching himself the way of the sword was not one of them— ‘Is this your blood awakening through him? For it’s been said, you were a child of books, having no love for the way of a warrior, until one day you picked up the sword and you were claimed a prodigy by all.’ He couldn't help thinking.

“He may have not perfected the stances I showed him and the others,” Rodrick continued, “but he’s close too. Not only that, we also witnessed him using three different stances I never showed him, and one that is foreign even to me.”

Once Ser Rodrik was done, all turned their eyes on their lord and waited for his response, and like the quiet wolf that he was, he sat quietly and contemplated his next move.

“Tell me Ser Rodrik, how fair is Jon's sword hand compared to others his age?”

Ned watches as Rodrick took time to contemplate his answer, by first pursing his lips, then scrubbing his hand through his white whiskers. Two traits Ned knew of the man when he was contemplating his next words. A trait Ned admires about the man.

“I would say he is far better than most people his age my lord, and if he continues at his current pace, none his age would match him in another year, even less if he is what I believe he is...a true prodigy."

“A prodigy you say?” scoff Catelyn Stark. For a second Ser Rodrik both forgot she was in the solar and feared what the Lord might say. “Are you saying a bastard is better than the heir to Winterfell?” She seethe.

“Enough!” Said Ned. Though his voice was never raised, all one needed to know that he was both irked and disappointed in his lady wife were the emotions playing behind his eyes. Eyes so full of emotions that his lady wife could do nothing but turned away in shame. Not only for disrespecting her husband in front of others, but more so for her own honor.

“One's status means nothing when it comes to swordplay” begins Ned, eyes still firmly locked on his wife's turned head. “More importantly on the battlefield, status is more of an hindrance than anything else, and if Robb is to rule Winterfell once I pass, it's up to him to be a better swordsman, no more, no less!”

“Thank you for bringing this to light Ser Rodrik.” Sweeping his eyes over the three men, he silently dismissed them. “Jory, find Jon and bring him to me.”

“Of course my Lord.”

The second the door was close, Ned turned to his lady once more. “I know you hate Jon, but that gives you no rights to insult the boy, worse yet in front of others. Like it or not my lady, I love you more than life itself, but I love my children just as fiercely. He may not have my name, but he has my blood, and that's all that matters. Leave me now, for I wish to speak to Jon alone.”

The look she gave Ned, had him rubbing his forehead for the headache that he knew would soon follow whenever Jon was being discussed.

_**The Bastard of Winterfell** _

Jon's mind was a league away at the moment. Robb and him were practicing their swords while Theon sat on a pole looking on, trying his best to get under Jon's skin, and failing miserably if the look of annoyance that Jon saw on his face was any indication.

Robb struck Jon in the ribs with a move that Jon in the right mindset would have seen coming miles away. Jon fell to his knees holding his ribs in pain, barely able to catch his breath.

“What's wrong Jon?” Robb asks of him after helping Jon back to his feet. “For the past month I've never been able to best you in a sword fight, and today you just allow yourself to be hit with such a clumsy move you should have seen coming a mile away? What's on your mind?” Robb's face crunches in annoyance.

Jon looked upon his brother's face and his heart broke, he hated lying to Robb of all people. Not a day goes by that he didn't want to share his visions with Robb, to tell him of the Three Eyed Crow, but in the end, the lie always found itself coming out. For he knew he had no choice but to lie. At this moment, at this age, Jon knew he had no powers yet to make a difference, and he feared if he told Robb the truth, he might never get the chance to gain said power to protect his family. It had nothing to do with not trusting Robb, but according to the Three Eyed Crow, keeping a secret was hard enough, but the more people that were involved, the harder it became to stay a secret. So swallowing the bile that rose in his mouth from the lie, he waved him off. “I just don't feel good today” Jon instead answered.

“Then you should go lie down, but come the morrow, I want your best brother!” Exclaimed Robb with a smile on his face.

What he told Robb wasn't entirely untrue, he was feeling off since he woke, but what worried him the most was the two people the Crow spotted that were watching him while he trained. The Crow was unable to tell him who they were, for all he saw were there back, and he didn't pursue them, for his attention was needed somewhere else. So when he returned to his room, he expected to see the two men waiting to confront him, yet nothing. Grabbing as much sleep he could before he was required to wake and break his fast, Jon assumed the confrontation might have happened there, yet nothing came off it. From the best of his knowledge, no one acted any different towards him than usual. So throughout the morning his mind was jumping through many scenarios, and that made him anxious, which in turn made him feeling sick.

Arriving in his room, he barely was there for ten minutes before there was a knock. “By the Old Gods, go away” Jon grumbled. Still, he got up to open the door, and there stood Jory, captain of the guards of Winterfell, and supposedly one of the best swordsmen in Winterfell.

“Come,” Jory explained. “Your father has needs of you.” Not waiting for a response, Jory turned and casually walked away.

It took Jon a few seconds to catch up to Jory’s long steps. ‘What does father wants that he would send the captain of the guards of all people to come retrieve me?’ He contemplates.

‘Wait!’ His mind wandered, ‘was Jory one of the people the Crow saw?’ Jon looked at Jory from the corner of his eyes, as subtle as he could, trying to read him, and to his disappointment, there was nothing for him to learn. ‘Have they told father? Damn it! Jon cursed. If father knows of my activities because of Jory, then I may need a way to throw him off my scent. What can I say to father that would both be true and logical?’ Before Jon could think any further, they had arrived at his father’s solar. Jory knocked, and after waiting for a second his father gave the permission to enter.

Taking a deep breath, Jon grabbed a hold of the knob, and before he could twist it, Jory put his hand on his shoulder, stopping him. The two lock eyes.

"There is no need to lie, Jon Snow, be truthful to your lord father. I know not why you've been escaping to the godwoods at night, but your lord father is an understandable man, he'll understand. With that, Jory removed his hand, turned and left.

Jon watches him walk away, the only thoughts running through his mind was ‘I doubt he’ll be understandable if he knew my true reasons.’

Entering the solar, Jon saw his father sitting behind his desk with a neutral look on his face, and Jon heart sped a little faster. ‘Please’ Jon silently prayed to the Old Gods, ‘don’t let him realize I am lying.’

“Jon,” his father acknowledged with a small smile. “Come, sit please.” Following his father's advice, Jon sat on the chair opposite his father.

With his father’s stare on him, watching him like a hawk, he felt like the child that he truly was.

Jon watches as his lord father takes a breath. “You know why I've summoned you here don't you Jon?”

“I don't father,” Jon answered, playing the role of the fool well. Or as good a child can to a tactician as well versed as Eddard Stark.

A frown that appeared on Ned's brown told Jon his lie was but for naught. “Do not lie to me Jon,” Ned responded with ease and a small smile playing on his face.

“Jon,” Ned spoke again. I know you've been in the godswoods, I know you've been training at night. I know not the full reasons why. But Jon, there's no need to lie to me, I'll not be mad. Nothing you say will make me love you less, you're my son, and I love you.”

Jon listened to his father demurely, and each accusation made him feel low, but it was when the word son and love were spoken that Jon lost it. His heart broke when those words left his father’s lips. He knew that Ned Stark loved him, but to say those words out loud to a lonely little boy, that’s all he ever needed. At this point, Jon cared little if there were no one to be a witness to his father’s words-he was there. That's all that mattered. As he opened his mouth to respond, to speak the truth to his father, and damn the consequences, but his heart shattered with the next words from Eddard Stark.

“I believe the only reason you've been both training and reading so much is maybe you are jealous of your brother Robb, since he's the heir to Winterfell, and you're not, and you feel you must be better than him to stand out more.”

It took a while before Jon answered his father’s reasoning, what with his mouth suddenly growing dry. While Ned had feared Jon would continue to stay quiet, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

"Son you say?” Jon whispered the words so low that Ned almost missed them. ‘He thinks me jealous of Robb!’ his mind roars in fury.

A fire burned in the young child's guts. A fire of righteous fury. Lifting his head and shooting Ned Stark, a look of pure disappointment, a look that shook Ned to his core, Jon begins speaking his mind for the first time in his life.

“You call me your son!” He seethed. “You say you love me? Yet I do not carry your name?! Do I father!? I know what I am!” Jon continues non pulse. “You think I don't know what the servants and Bannerman refers to me? Or what the lady of Winterfell thinks and sees me at? Or why I do not sit with any of the Starks at the high table? Or why I’m hidden away when anyone of status comes to Winterfell?” Jon all but sneer. “You think I do not know what I am? "Let me tell you father, I am Jon Snow!” With those words, Jon thumped his chest with a close fist over his heart and left it there. “I am the Bastard of Winterfell, I shall hold no lands, for a Bastard has no rights. I shall father no child, les I desire them to be ridiculed worse than I!” Jon finished, fire still burning in his eyes and guts. All the while, Ned sat there with a look of absolute anguish as he listened to his son vent out the rage from his heart. The hate and sorrow and the unfairness of being a bastard. Ned never once thought the boy ever felt that way.

Jon continues on, caring little about the look of anguish on his father’s face.

"Robb is my brother, and I love him more than anything in this world, if you think I would betray my brother, then you give me far too little credit father!... I know what I am,” Jon once more proclaimed while pointing his finger at himself. "I am Jon Snow, the one blemish of the honorable Ned Stark's honor. I've always known my place in this world father, but I was always happy to have been your son, for few men in this world would acknowledge, or better yet, raise their bastards with their true-borns, and I thank you now father, for reminding me of my place today!”

By the end, both Jon and Ned had tears running down their faces. Ned from his lack of foresight, and Jon from his frustration of being nothing but a bastard and being treated as such. Wiping the tears from his eyes, and before Ned could say more, Jon asked him to leave.

“May I leave now father?” The word father left the boy’s lips with no warmth, nor care.

“Of course” Ned answered after a beat, for he knew nothing more would be accomplished tonite.

Jon went directly to his room, not wanting to deal with anyone. Closing and latching the door so none could enter, he lay on his bed and shed tears. Tears full of sorrow and pain. All the while, the Crow watches on.

_**The Honorable Wolf** _

Ned watches as his son demands his leave. Knowing he had no choice, he relented.

As Jon departed from his solar, all Ned knew was that he failed the boy, and he failed to love him. Though he never treated Jon badly, he now knew, his aloofness was just as bad.

Tears fell unabashed even more from him once Jon left. Not once did he believe Jon felt this way. Even worse was when he accused Jon of being jealous of his brother. “I am so sorry Lyanna,” he spoke to the empty room.

“All this time, I thought I was doing the right thing, I thought I was being a good father. How foolish I truly am.”

Ned was so weak and drained from his confrontation with Jon, that he fell into the sofa in his solar and slept. Not even his wife being crossed with him for not sleeping in their bed was strong enough to make him leave. That night, like so many other nights when he was troubled, or something jolted his memory of the past, he dreamed about that day.

When the dreams came, Ned always had a secondary view of the events that played out. He watches as his younger self confronts the three kings guard. Said to be three of the greatest of knights Westeros has ever created. Ned watches as his younger self fought and lost. Knowing he won that battle, not through skills, but pure luck and treachery.

He was forced to witness his little sister, a young woman that was always strong and brave, rendered so weak on her deathbed. Holding onto a little boy, and making him promise to protect him.

By the Old Gods he tried to protect Jon. But it seems, he only succeeded halfway. Though he was able to protect Jon from the predators that wished him harm, he still failed him in everything else. In essence, he failed his little sister.

As Ned continues to stand in the tower, part of him feels something amiss. For he always wakes after making his promise to Lyanna. But here he was, still standing in the tower continuing to witness the final scene between him and his sister.

Trying to find the meaning behind such a thing, he turned a complete half circle when a voice came from his rear.

Ned watches as a man dressed in black, his face obscured by the sudden darkness, and for some strange reason, no matter how he moves, the darkness moves with him, protecting his face from the light.

Taking a slight defensive form, Ned questions this unknown force. “What are you?”

“Fear not Eddard Stark, for I mean you no harm.”

“Not what I ask,” Ned fired back. “I've relieved this memory plenty of times, and not once were you part of it. So again, who are you?”

The man chuckled. “I am he who walks the unknown realm, he who was given powers over the unseen, the animals and the dreams of man.” Ned queer looked never left his face after the being answered him.

“Know this wolf, you have not failed your little sister, few men in this realm possess such integrity, that they would besmirch their own honor just to keep a promise.” With a wave of his hand, an image of Jon appeared smiling. So sleep easy young one. And before Ned could question this being, he awoke on the sofa in his solar, with his wife looking down on him with a stern expression on her visage.

“Forgive me for not coming to our bed last night, I was too tired to make the walk.” Ned spoke, while wiping the sleep from his eyes. The stern expression left her visage and was replaced with one of warmth and worry.

“Was everything alright then?” Catelyn asks him. He thought of lying to her, but changed his mind at the last second.

“No, everything is far from alright, and I will need to speak to Jon.” Her face scrunched once more with Jon's name being spoken.

“I'll have the servants bring you your fast then my Lord. Since you're so tired to move.” With that, Catelyn turns and exits his solar.

Part of him wanted to go to her and apologize for the night prior. But Ned knew he was not at fault, he was just partly at fault. But far too long and many times his lady wife has shown Jon nothing but contempt for something that was not of his doing or powers.

‘I'll have to talk to her about treating Jon more propper from now on.’ He knew every time the boy was brought up, his lady wife felt insulted. Not only did she feel slighted that he would break his vows of marriage by sleeping with another woman, even worse was bringing said slight back with him and raised alongside their true born. He knew how much he hurt his wife, and a larger part of him understood her, but at the same time, a smaller part of him felt hurt that she could so easily blame a child for their parents' mistake, or easily forgets her house words. Family, Duty, Honor. No, right now, he did not have the strength to care about her feelings.

Many a night he fought against himself about telling his lady wife the truth. That he was never unfaithful to her, and that Jon was not his son, but Lyanna and Rhaegar. That he only claimed Jon as his because it was the last promise Lyanna made him swore to uphold. To protect her son from all, especially of Robert’s wrath, and the Lannisters trickery. No matter the love he held for Robert, he can now without a doubt say that now he's older and wiser, Robert never truly knew nor loved Lyanna.

A hollowed laugh escaped him thinking it. Robert was more in love with the idea of the woman, and not the actual woman herself. For Ned knew, no matter how much Robert claimed to have loved Lyanna, he would still have killed her son, her last living testament that she did indeed leave in this shit stain world. All he had to do was look back in the senseless murder of Elia and her two children. There only sins being of Rhaegar’s blood. Ned saw a part of Robert he never thought existed, he witnessed firsthand the joy in his eyes when he was told of the death of the children-or ‘dragon spawns’ as he dubbed them. The hate in his eyes and words were indescribable.

So he kept the secret. Brother or not, that was one thing he would not allow. Nothing would cure the thirst Robert till this day still carries for anything Targaryens. For even now, assassins are still used to hunt the last two known Targaryens, even though they were far across the sea and hold no possible threat to him.

‘Yes,’ Ned thought. ‘I would go to war for him if he's ever discovered, even against a man I once called brother.’

So just as easily the thoughts came of telling his wife the truth, they are just as easily smothered. For a lie is better to keep a lie when few know the real truth. A lie so great, that not even Benjen was aware, his own blood.

Not too long after, a knock was heard, and giving permission, servants brought forth his food. Thanking them, they took their leave, and Ned's mind returned to the stranger in his dreams. But no matter how much he tried to remember what the dream was, or what the stranger said to him, all was for naught.

And as the days pass, the dreams will become just that, mere dreams.

The Three Eyed Crow

The Crow watches through the many of his eyes in Winterfell as the young King cries himself to sleep. Not knowing what to do but wanting to soothe him, the Crow enters his dreams and he begins to play the best of his memories. The good memories though were few, were sweet. His sparring with his brother Robb in the training yard. Both doing their best to outdo the other, not caring who ends up winning. Making snow castles with Arya, and committing as much mischief, and pushing how much they can get away with. The Crow left the young King to his dreams, and returned to his own body.

Waking up, he found himself surrounded by the Children. “How far are we in the trials?” He asks them.

“We are close to completion” responded one of the Children. “But I worry young one, from what you told us, true he is one of the key factors to winning this war, but is he not too old? From the vision the Old Gods shared with you, the young King training should have begun by the age of four, seven being the oldest. I fear,” the Children continued, “by starting his training three years too late, the young King might not survive the trials, and if he dies, then we lose one of the key factors to halting the Long Night.”

Silent reign in the crow's chamber. After a beat, he answered the Children of the forest. ''This is true we take a high risk, but my friends, if we do nothing, all is doomed regardless. With this trial given to us by the Old Gods, we have a slim chance to hope of winning. The Old Gods believe in the young King, Let us believe in our Gods, for They have never led us astray, but more importantly, let's us believe in the young King, for I do not think the Old Gods would have taken such a great gambit when the trials are of concern.”

“Very well answered one of the Children,” and with that, the worries were laid to rest.

“Will everything be ready by the time the King comes to us?” The Crow spoke out loud.

“Yes,” And this time it was the de facto leader of the Children that answered the Crow. “You fret far too much young one. But tell me, why did you speak to the quiet one?” She questioned.

It took a second for the Crow to answer. A look entered his one eye. “I know not really, all that came to me was the young King was in pain, so was his father. I knew I could help, so I did. The young King is sacrificing much for us, he is being forced to fight and sacrifice for our past sins.”

A pain looked pass on the Children of the forest faces with the mention of past sins. Whether the Crow acknowledged it or not, he continues on regardless. “So the least I could do is to alleviate his family's future pains, even if it's only temporary. But worry not, the wolf will believe it was naught but a dream, and the more time that passes, the more he shall forget, until he knows nothing at all. I only went to him to temporarily help him cope with the past, for even after nine years, he mourns her still.”

Coming back to the matter at hand, the Crow continues to discuss the coming trials with the children.

“According to the Old Gods and the knowledge bestowed to me, everything must be precise, too little the process won't work, and the young King is left dead in all but body. Too much and he dies a gruesome death.”

“How many of the trials must he go through first?” She asked again.

“The young King shall undergo three life altering trials. Each having a chance of killing him. With the fourth trial being more on his knowledge and prowess in all he was taught.” The Crow finished with a sigh.

“Trials aside young one,” says another of the Children. “The young King will need to be fitted properly.”

“What do you propose then?” The Crow inquired.

“Power and knowledge are just one of the many things he will need once his training is complete.” She finished.

The Children locked eyes, then turned to the Crow as one. “He shall need steel that does not bend nor break and without the need of honing. Valyrian steel to be exact. A steed of pure strength and stamina, a steed that hardly tires to carry him to battle and home. A steed... unlike the one you bestowed upon Benjen Stark. For you cannot always be there to command it. Lastly, he shall need eyes in the skies to see his enemies movement.”

“Valyrian steel I can provide,” responded the Crow. But a steed like the one you're thinking of is unheard off, lest it be dead. For nothing alive possess such stamina. For eyes, I can gift him one of my crows, and teach him the way of warging, a task I was already planning on teaching him. For in him Stark blood and the blood of the First men runs through his veins. Adding his Targaryen side will make his warging even more powerful… He might surpass even me.” The Crow laments with a smile.

Silence fell, and it was only broken by one of the children asking a question to no one in particular. “Can they truly save us? Can they truly erase our sins?” No answer came forth, for no one knew what the future held. For all their powers, seeing the future was as volatile as a snowstorm. It's unpredictable, it pulls, twists and shifts you in the direction it desires to go. Not the one you truly desire, but still you fight, for that is all you can do to survive its furry.

Still, the Crow and the Children knew one thing. No matter how unpredictable the future was, the Gods, the ones they've served for as long as time has existed have bestowed upon them a means to battle the ‘Long Night’ in the form of three young monarchs. Though two was far from their reach, the young King was within theirs, and once he came to them, by the Old Gods they shall serve him, and raise him as the instruments that shall change the course of the realm, and forever end this darkness that plagues the realm.

Those three they all believe, shall bring forth the Dawn!

Notes:  
Some of you might ask why I added Rhaeneys to the vision Benjen witnessed when the original vision was just Jon and Dany. Remember the Crow is a being of dreams, him adding Rhaenys is not outside of his powers. Plus, the Crow also wanted to manipulate Benjen to his cause.

The Crow at this point cares little for anyone not named J/D/R, Aemon, and the Children of the forest. Anyone else at this point is fodder for his plans. The Crow sees the big picture, not the individuals, minus the ones i mentioned above. SO the Crow manipulating Benjen is not far fetched of an idea.

Also, anyone that read the original chapter will see that I added a few more dialogues, and I also deleted some I felt were not needed.


	4. Escaping From Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is spirited from Winterfell by his uncle Benjen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated this chapter far earlier than I thought possible. When i posted chapter 3, I had 5k already written down, and that high never left, and by the time i realize what was happening, I had finished it.
> 
> So I decided to upload this chapter because I won't be able to upload for the next month or so, and i don't when I'll have the time. 
> 
> I accept all constructive criticism.
> 
> So enjoyed, and again, thanks for reading.

**A Song Of Wolves And Dragons**  
**HouseOfEl**

* * *

**IV**  
**Escaping From Winterfell**

* * *

_**The Wolf On The Wall** _

Benjen made his way back to Castle Black at a hurried pace on his new stead, arriving in record time. A journey made in a mere three days, instead of the usual two weeks. One full week on a normal horse if they were pushed to their absolute best, resting for no more than an hour or two.

But here he was about to enter the tunnel to Castle Black after just three days of Journey. The horse after being offered to him by the Children still unnerved him, for sitting upon the beast, he felt no movement of exertions, no breath coming from its nostrils, and with the beast looking so blueish, he had deduced the beast to also be dead. He was proven right when he stopped to gather water, and the beast had just looked upon him when he led him to the river.

Part of him was still reeling from everything he'd learn from the Crow and the Children of the Forest. “Who would have thought” he exclaimed to the wind-for there was no one to listen to his thoughts in the vastness of the true north-“To think those stories of old Nan were more than just stories.” He couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

It was made worse yet, for while he slept, the Crow came to him and gave him troubling news. It seems that Jon grew restless, and he wishes to leave far sooner than the time that was planned. With this new change, removing Jon would be far harder than before. The original plan was for Benjen to use the pendant's glamour given to him by the Crow to insert himself into a theater troupe as a stage hand that would be visiting the North for the first time. On their last day, Benjen and Jon would make their escape, and by the time anyone realized Jon was missing, they would be miles away. The troupe would then be used as a scapegoat. Ned and his Bannerman would chase down said troupe thinking they had kidnapped Jon… and by the time they reached the troupe and realized their folly, Benjen and Jon would be halfway, if not more so on the way to Castle Black by then. And If the weather and road were good, they would have arrived at Castle Black, and by then, it would have been useless even if they somewhat found them to be heading further North instead of South.

Benjen was neither scared or worried that Ned would behead any members of the troupe. For once he realizes they spoke true, he'll leave them be and on their way. If Ned was anything, honorable and predictable were two things Benjen could always count on from his older brother ‘-his enemies too-’ the thoughts entered his mind before he could stop himself. Benjen brows furrowed at said dark thoughts that continue to make themselves to the forefront of his mind. Once, twice, thrice he shook his head to clear them, watching the flurry of snow that fell from his shaken head, Benjen's mind returned to Jon’s predicament.

The original plan will need to be modified for this new development. Instead of making their escape at the end of the troupe's last performance that would have lasted the whole month, now Benjen and Jon would need to escape while said troupe still has one more week of performance left in the North.

So here he sat, on a steed that neither eats nor sleep, and wandered what unnerved Jon so, and the Crow being his insufferable self, refused to tell him. All the Crow was willing to say was the young King would tell him when the time was right. That pissed him off.

Benjen made his way through the tunnel and entered castle black at last. He forgot how much he missed this place. The only other place he felt free, was back at Winterfell, and even that freedom Winterfell offered him came with a noose around his neck. For being born a Stark, even last of the litters, responsibilities he wanted nothing to do with were still required of him. ‘Like marriage to a woman he wanted nothing to do with.’ He thought sourrely.

Coming out of the long tunnel, he was met with a group of his brothers and the Lord Commander himself. “Benjen,” Lord Commander Mormont spoke in his grisly voice, “It's good to have you back!” Benjen watches as Mormont takes him in from head to toe... looking for injuries, Benjen does not know, then Benjen watches as the old man’s eyes darken when he realizes he is alone.

Benjen, still on his steed, watches as Mormont takes a deep breath then slowly releases it. “Since it's only you, I assumed your two brothers are no longer with us.” It was a statement spoken by Mormont, so no answers were needed. A quietness fell in the courtyard of Castle Black, only to be broken once more by the Lord Commander. “Those two boys were good brothers he bellowed, tis a fucking shame they are gone, we'll drink to them tonite and say our farewell. Now get back to work” he roared to the brothers that stopped to welcome Benjen.

“Get some rest lad, you deserve it. Then Maester Aemon and I can receive a proper report from you,” commanded the Lord Commander.

“That won't be necessary” Benjen was quick to answer. “I've rested enough as it is, and the faster I make my report, the better.” ‘And the faster I can be on my way and retrieve Jon’ He thought.

Commander Mormont shot him a look, and with a heavy sigh he motioned Benjen to follow him. “Very well then lad, we’ll make our way to Maester Aemon's room instead, far better than forcing him to walk all the way to my office” said the lord commander.

By the time Benjen was finished detailing what happened beyond the wall, while omitting many truths, it was already midday. Retiring to his room, Benjen went on to plan a way of spiriting Jon from Winterfell to Castle Black, then to the Crow beyond the wall.

The weirdest thing that happened was maester Aemon convincing Lord Commander Mormont to give him a full two weeks off from his duties. Something the Commander frowned hearing, but in the end, even the commander relented.

The man though blind, Benjen swore the small smirk that played on the old man’s face made it look like he knew something was up, and he was using his position as Maester to buy him time.

"Does Maester Aemon know what truly lies beyond the North?” Benjen asked the empty room. “I should not be surprised, the man is nearly ninety, and he has served the watch for more than sixty years now.”

“I have one week to accomplish this mission” Benjen contemplated out loud. Turning on his side and using his hands to make a makeshift pillow to elevate his head, Benjen made his plan using the quiet of the room to bounce his ideas around.

“Let's see, Castle Black is nearly two hundred leagues from Winterfell, using the steed given to me by the Crow, and traveling nonstop, if I leave on the morrow before the sun is even up, I can arrive in Winterfell in two, two and a half, three at the worst depending on the weather and terrains with the bare minimum of sleep. With another day's wait till the sun goes down and grab Jon and leave that same night. By the time anyone realizes he is gone, we should be close to Castle Black at the least. The worst of all scenarios with the weather and hiding out, five days altogether to complete the journey from Winterfell to Castle Black, with another three to five days journey from Castle Black to the Three Eye Crow’s home. Once more depending on the severity of the terrain.”

Restlessness took over knowing of the journey and the many difficulties that lay ahead. ‘One false move, and we all lose.’ He couldn’t help but to think.

There would be many restless turns on his bed before sleep took over, only for Benjen to open his eyes and see himself in the Crow’s home. The only difference, the Crow was no longer fused with the great tree, now he was free to move about.

Watching the self proclaimed Three Eyed Crow-whatever that meant-a cripple stuck to a tree in the real world move about so freely in this dreamworld brought a thought into Benjen’s mind.

“I am curious,” said Benjen, while waving at the Crow’s new form. “I know you to be a cripple”-the words spoken by Benjen held no weight of venom behind them, just an observation of truth- “Yet here you are in this dreamworld, standing on two feet. If you are able to manipulate this dreamworld so easily,” Benjen spread his arms to encompass the realm, “why not attack and kill this Night King while he slept instead of playing this game of cat and mouse?”

A defeated sigh left the Crow’s thin wrinkled lips. “It would not work you see.” Benjen could only raise an eyebrow at that answer, choosing to stay silent, knowing the Crow was ready to share some important truths with him.

“The Night King like myself,” continues the Crow, “possess the same powers as I. You see child, if I were to attack the Night King, he would not only be strong enough to stop me, but I also fear he would learn of my location, and march for us, and I do not believe we would enjoy such an encounter.”

Benjen was surprised when the Crow spoke of the Night King, and he could feel the fear coming off in waves from this enigmatic creature. “I see” benjen surmised out loud.

Benjen eyed the Crow with more wariness. ‘Are your fears of the Night King subconsciously being shown to me, or purposely to control me in helping your cause?’ Benjen couldn't help but to think. Thoughts at the moment he chooses to hide away from this creature. Though they came to an understanding, Benjen did not truly trust him...especially regarding Jon. His answer to the Crow still held true, his help in bringing Jon beyond the wall only stands as long as Jon desires it. Thoughts he made sure the Crow knew prior to his leaving the Crow’s home.

After a beat of silence and awkwardness, the conversation once more returned to Jon’s escape from Winterfell, for Benjen realized the Crow had no intention of continuing this line of thoughts

After many revisions of the original plan, the two finally came to a joint agreement. While Benjen would be responsible for spiriting away the young child, the Crow will be their eyes in the skies and ears in the shadows, alerting them of any mishaps.

As Benjen felt himself being pushed out of the dreaming world, he imposed a question to the Crow that had refused to leave him concerning maester Aemon ever since the old man took such a strange fascination with the machinations beyond the wall.

“I've been thinking about our own maester Aemon.'' Begin benjen. “It was strange that he was so quick to back me up in going to Winterfell, a stranger still being present in my debriefing to the commander concerning the machinations of what goes beyond the wall, when previously he cared little for such things as he grew older, especially after losing his sight. True he was present in most meetings, but according to the Lord Commander, he demanded to be included in this specific debriefing vehemently. So my question to you Crow, does Aemon know what truly lies beyond the wall?”

“Would it matter? let alone change anything on what must be done young one?” The Crow questioned back to Benjen.

“Of course it matters” Benjen was quick to answer. “If we could have a man of Maester Aemon on our side, it would be far easier to bring the Lord Commander to our side. Though blind continued Benjen, that man’s mind is like none I've ever encountered, present company excluded of course.”

“That may all be true young one, but at the moment, Maester Aemon’s dilemma needs to be put aside, for our focus should be on one problem at a time, instead of stacking more to an already full plate. Don't you think?” Finish the Crow with a frown on his already wrinkled face?

"Aye, you are right” Benjen begrudgingly agrees, “one problem at a time then.”

_**The Bastard of Winterfell** _

It's been nearly a week since the confrontation with his Lord father, and all in Winterfell felt the sour mood that lingered in the castle from just looking at their lord's face anytime he laid eyes on Jon Snow. None knew what transpired between the two, but it was bad, for the guards said their lord’s mood sour ever since he spoke to his bastard son that night.

The lady of Winterfell glared at him far more, and belittled him far more. Especially when she witnesses Robb losing a sword fight against him. Her exact words to no one in particular that Jon overheard, "how can a bastard beat the heir? He must have cheated.” In his short nine years, he never truly hated a person, he disliked Theon for he was an idiot, but he didn't really hate him, but Lady Stark made it hard for him not to hate her. Only reason his dislike of her didn't manifest to hate, was simply his love for Robb, Arya, Bran, and even Sansa. So that day, and like the others, he bit his tongue and took her tongue lashing. ‘Wasn't the first and won't be the last,’ Jon thought. ‘I wonder my lady, would you throw a feast when the bastard disappears from these walls?’ Jon let out a humorless laugh at said dark thoughts, and being in his own world, he failed to see the look the small folk tossed his way.

Jon did his best to stay away from his siblings, les he gave the lady Stark more reason to hate him. He spent more time in the library reading the many volumes of books held in its halls. He scoured all the books that dealt with, or those that mention the Long Night. After devouring the knowledge from those books, so few they were, he turned to books that held knowledge of warfare, even going so far as seeking the master of arms and his nephew for actual experience in different tactics on warfare..

One thing Jon learned reading books, for all the knowledge they impose on you, none of it meant a thing without actually implementing them in real life, and the master of arms of Winterfell, Rodrik Cassel and his nephew Jory Cassel possessed that knowledge. Though Rodrik Cassel was reluctant to share war stories with him, his nephew Jory was a different person. Where Rodrik was dour and grumpy, Jory was all smiles while speaking to him about tactics. Jon wasn’t foolish enough to think that his questions weren’t being reported back to his father. He debated with himself should he impose said questions, and in the end, he realized though it was a great risk, it was a risk worth taking. For according to the Crow, deception was and always shall be the greatest weapon one can ever wield.

According to the Crow, you could possess the greatest army the realm has ever seen, but if your enemies are far more clever than you, sooner or later, you would fall to their plot. When he had questioned the Crow further, the Crow had used the Targaryens as a great example of a dynasty that ruled Westeros for three hundred years, only to be brought to its end by enemies that were far more cunning than them.

Wanting to know more, the Crow had shut the conversation down, telling him all truth shall be revealed to him in due times. It annoyed him when the Crow did that, and when he made his thoughts known, the Crow had only smiled and poked his head and told him patience was a virtue. “What is patience to a boy of nine” he answered the Crow while pouting.

His solitude of peace would come to an end after only three full days. Robb would corner and confront him, and not wanting more eyes on him, he would relent to his brother’s rant. So Jon would end up apologizing to Robb for his disappearance. Though it was left unsaid, Jon missed his brother... his best friend. All were forgiven in the end, but Robb being Robb would go on a rant that lasted till supper.

According to Robb, they were blood brothers and that's all that matters-a brother that was both given and chosen, so when they entered the hall laughing, and Robb decided to sit with him instead of taking his place at the high table, not even lady Stark’s glare held any power at that moment. And when Arya and even little Bran made a fuss of seating with them, and their lord father allowed it, Jon at that moment felt like he was at the top of the world, or as high a bastard was allowed to climb.

Jon was not foolish, for he knew how good he had it. For how many men would raise their bastard, their shame with their true borns, let alone a high lord. ‘Truly I have it better than most,’ he thought. Still, Jon did his best not to stand out too much. The less attention, the better was his new mantra.

Now as he and the Crow spoke to each other in the dream world, and knowing his uncle will be arriving in two days' time before nightfall, all he could feel was sadness, even the Crow could see it.

“I'll miss this place” Jon whispers as he looks down at Winterfell in the dream world. “For as long as I've remembered, Winterfell was home… even if I never truly belong really.”

“Have you ever felt that way Crow?” Jon questioned while looking up at the old man in his dark robes.

A dry laugh left the Crow’s lips. “Aye child, I’ve felt that way.” The Crow placed his pale bony hand on Jon’s shoulder as a way of comfort. Though Jon understood the gesture, it did nothing for his mood, but the support was welcomed, for there was only one man before the Crow he could turn to to express his feelings of abandonment. He misses his uncle so very much when those moods hit him.

After a good deal of silence, Jon squared his young shoulders, locked eyes with the Crow and listened on how to meet up with Benjen in winter town.

‘Patience’ Jon thought to himself, it took all he had not to interrupt the Crow’s explanation, from crossing his arms, to tapping his legs to a rhythm only he could hear, then when that wasn't enough, to biting his lips.

According to said Crow, he lacks patience whenever he becomes excited, or mad and that sometimes leads to bad decisions. When the Crow had spoken those words to him, he was quick to fire back “what do you expect from a boy of nine, old man!” A smirk from the Crow was his answer.

One thing Jon came to understand from the Crow from the moment they began to converse, there was always a double meaning behind his words, and it was up to Jon to dissect the secondary meaning. Patience in himself, patience in overall life was key for survival. According to the Crow... “The patient warrior observes his enemies and surroundings and plans accordingly, where the one without any patience rushes in blindly and dies needlessly.”

So listening to the Crow speaks and not interrupting was madness to the young child.

“Won't the plan fail if the small folk see uncle Benjen? He may not live in Winterfell, but the small folk still know what a Stark looks like, let alone his own brother, my lord father.”

“Worry not about that,” responded the Crow. “With the magic given to him by the Children of the Forest, Benjen Stark will be glamour, he will appear more southerner than northerner.”

“Glamour? What is that?” Jon was quick to fire out, face crunched out of lack of understanding, and excitement in his voice.

After a beat of silence, the Crow continues on. “Glamour if you had not interrupted,” response the Crow “I would have gladly explained.” The words were said in jest, with a small smile playing on his lips, while Jon’s face crunched in annoyance. The Crow continues with the smile still in place. “Glamour is an ancient form of blood magic that disguises one's appearances from the eyes of others.”

“Blood magic?” Jon questioned in a small voice. “Is it safe?” The Crow smiled once more. “Of course.” He was quick to reply. Jon’s mind begins to take over, trying his best in his limited knowledge on the ability said blood magic provides. “How does such a mechanism work then Crow?”

“It is…” begin the Crow “hard to explain.” Jon was quick to shoot him a dubious look, face full of annoyance.

“You know” began Jon, “you think you would be more knowledgeable for an all knowing, all seeing being.”

The Crow hums while stroking his chin. “I never once claimed to be an all knowing and all seeing being child.”

Jon did not find the crow’s humour to be funny, and as he was about to let the Crow have a piece of his mind, the Crow instead was quick to raise his hands, palm facing forward as a sign of truce.

“Glamour is a form of magic that disguises another person, but this glamour is special. It not only disguises the wearer, but the magic makes all that lay eyes upon the wearer to see another being. No two beings shall see the same man clarifies the Crow.” We made the glamour that strong for the purpose of your escape. For when different characteristics are given of your kidnappers, it shall make it harder to track you two.”

“What of the horse tracks then? Will the glamour also work on them?” Question Jon once more. “Worry not, for I already have the means to cover our tracks” answers the Crow.

“That's good I guess, What of me then?” Jon asks while watching the snow descend at a faster rate upon him and the Crow. It meant he was near to wake, and the Crow it seems realizes it also, for he begins to speak just a bit faster.

“How shall I tell uncle Benjen apart if he is glamour?”

“Worry not young one. Once Benjen Stark sees you, he'll approach you. Look to his neck, he shall be wearing a necklace with a bronze wolf with an open mouth full of teeth, it is one of a kind. If that's not Enough, he shall mention my name.” Jon couldn’t help but laugh at that.

He was quick to wave his hand away when the Crow questioned him. “It’s not important.” When the Crow’s face scrunched more, Jon sigh. “I just found it ironic with the wolf necklace, that’s all.”

“Back to the topic at hand” continued Jon. “What else should I need for the journey? Foods? Weapons?”

“Worry not of such things young one, all you need shall be provided for you, warm clothes for the cold shall be your main priorities. Now, it is time to wake, and next we speak, it shall be face to face.” Finishes the Crow with a smile.

Jon woke with the moon still high in the night, and sleep now eluding him. This was one of the drawbacks of communicating with the Crow. Hours spent in the dreamworld translated to but a few in the real world, and whenever he wakes, he was full of unused energy. According to the Crow, it all had to do with him subconsciously pulling the vast magics which the Crow himself drew from, and the closer he is to a weirwood tree, the stronger the pull. The last time he spent sleeping in the goodwoods conversing with the Crow, he stayed up for two full days. But though there was a positive effect of energy for him to use, there was also a drawback, the main drawback being tired, and sleeping more hours after losing the high. That’s why the Crow limited their time in the dreamworld to just a few moments. Even just those few moments still charged his body.

Knowing trying to force himself to sleep would be all but useless, Jon contemplated what he needed to accomplish before he had to venture forth. In two days time, Winterfell shall be behind him. He needed to somehow say goodbye to his siblings without worrying them, and knowing how perceptive Robb is, ‘If I am not careful, he might gleamed something amiss. That could jeopardize the plan.’ He thought. ‘Would it be such a bad thing?’ A treacherous voice was quick to fire back. Only for Jon to just as quickly smother the small ember.

“I also need to apologize to father for all I said. After all, how many men, lords especially, take in their bastards son and raise them alongside his legitimate heirs. Even going so far into properly educating them.”

With day break, Jon was forced to get up and change, less he stayed in bed and had someone drag him out of bed-Arya and Robb more likely.

Breaking his fast, consisting of nothing but two bacon strips, two fried eggs, bread and milk, he was the only one quiet at the table. Then again, he had nothing truly in common with the folks that sat at the table with him.

‘I see the lady Catelyn hates for me growing stronger still.’ That was all Jon could think when his eyes wandered to where the Starks sat, and he caught the eye of the lady of Winterfell. The look she sent him was one of disdain. ‘It seems there's one more thing I won't miss once I leave’ he thought. Jon further surprised the lady when he sent her his own glare. A glare that his lord father caught on, that had Jon hanging his head in shame when he saw the look of disappointment in his father's eyes. ‘Do I disappoint you father? Or is the disappointment in yourself for giving in into your baser instincts, and I remind you of your stupid folly? Why must I...No, why does any child force to pay for adults' folly?’ Jon couldn't help but rage in his mind.

Looking down at his unfinished food, and knowing he no longer had an appetite, Jon grabbed his plate and left the table. Not caring for the looks he received from either his family, or the many folks that dine this morning. His feet took him to the armory where he grabbed a training sword and headed to the training ground. Jon lost himself in the self-training, so much so that he begins to mix the stances he was taught by Ser Rodrik to the stances the Crow shared with him.

“Well bastard, if I didn't know any better, I would say you got just a little better.” Jon looks to his left to see Theon looking at him with that annoying smirk on his face, and Robb looking at Theon with a look of annoyance on his.

“How many times must I tell you that you are not to call Jon a bastard?” Robb questions Theon. Jon watches on with a smirk on his own lips as Theon sputters out an answer that Robb finds not at all amusing. Before Robb could continue to beret Theon more, Jon stepped in. He did not stop it for his love of Theon, but for his love of Robb. For he knew if Robb continued, words would be exchanged that might take years, or worse might never heal again, and he had no desire for the latter to occur. Jon needed Theon to be there for Robb once he was gone. Though Robb had friends, Jon knew none were like Theon. To Robb, Theon was his brother not by blood, but the one he also choses.

‘Lords rarely have friends’ Jon thought, and for all his flaws, Jon would be the first to admit if he were truthful, Theon was a friend to Robb. An insurable friend, but a friend no less.

“Robb, it's okay, truly brother it's okay. I'm sure It was all a jest.” Jon was quick to put his hand on Robb's shoulder to calm him, while shooting the older boy a withering look that let him know that was not up for discussion, and to just agree.

“Of course it was just a jest Robb,” Theon was quick to answer with that stupid smile on his face.

“Good,” Robb responded. “No more calling Jon a bastard Theon. You are the brother I chose, while Jon is both the brother given, and also chosen. So from today onward, your jest towards Jon ends.” The piercing look Robb shot Theon had him wavering while waiting for his answer. But Jon also knew Theon, he was a prideful man, or boy, or fool-depends on whom you ask to be more exact-putting him on the spot was never wise. For it is said, a prideful man full of pride would rather fight instead of acknowledging their wrong doings, and Theon Greyjoy is a prideful fool, and his silence proved Jon right.

‘Don’t be stupid Greyjoy, do not allow your pride to destroy your friendship.’ Jon thought after Theon stayed quiet for far too long. ‘Just smile and lie you fool.’

The awkwardness was broken when Ser Rodrik came out to the training yard and began hollering commands, and Jon released a breath of relief seeing the old man, for he knew what Theon’s answer would have been even before he opened his mouth.

‘Prideful fool’ Jon thought while shaking his head in annoyance and disappointment at the older boy. Watching Robb and the look in his eyes, Jon knew this was far from over. He just prayed the fallout would be small.

After being beaten by the older and more experienced trainees, they were dismissed. Robb left to speak to his mother, while Theon disappeared somewhere. ‘Knowing him, he probably left for Old Town, visiting the brothels there. Idiot!’ Jon shook his head at the thought.

That was one thing Jon would not miss about the Greyjoy heir, his constant visits to the brothel and bragging of them. Jon never understood why a man would take such a risk in birthing a child without being wed, and forcing said child to carry the bastard stigma for all time. “—You're a bastard snow—” was Theon’s answer when Jon questioned him, “—and that’s why you think it is wrong.”

“Was my mother a whore?” Jon whispers to himself. “Or was she highborn?” He continued to ponder out loud. "No matter, for in the end, none shall matter.” With a shake of his head, he walked on to his next task of the day. “I should find Arya and Bran and spend some time with them, instead of worrying about things that cannot be changed.”

Finding his siblings wasn't that hard. What was hard was trying to play with a girl that would rather play outside in the snow with swords, and a boy that can barely keep his attention on one thing, before quickly losing interest. But play with them he did, for Jon knew this would be the last time in a long time before he laid eyes on the two. Jon did everything they asked of him. More so Arya demanded, and Bran just tagged along. He was happy nonetheless.

That's where his lord father, the lady of Winterfell, Robb, Sansa, Theon, Ser Rodrik, Maester Luwin found them. All three on the ground laughing without a care. Robb seeing this jumped in the melee, not caring when his mother called him to stop. While Sansa, the ever dutiful daughter looks on with a look of superiority on her face. While lady Stark's face crunched in annoyance, and their Lord father's eyes grew warm, and a smile crept up his ever stern face. Theon looks on in jealousy and annoyance, knowing if he were to join in, Lady Stark’s ire might turn on him as well, while the other adults just smile on at the children's playfulness. At this moment in time, Jon cared little for anyone else's opinions, all he cared for was at this very moment were his siblings. Their smiles, he shall miss the most, and looking at said happy faces, he falters in his decision to leave them.

“Come Children,” lady Catelyn spoke, “midday lunch is about to be served.” As they disengage from each other, Jon rises with Arya in his arms, while Robb with Brandon. Arya being Arya begs Jon to make it a race against Robb and Bran. Not able to say no to their siblings, the two races out of the room and out the corridors of Winterfell. All that followed were laughter’s of four children without a care in the world, but the love they shared. Even with Lady Stark voice telling them to stop, they continued on.

Arriving in the great hall, Jon was not surprised when Robb sat down with him once more instead of taking his place at the high table. For the past few days, that’s where Robb has been sitting, even when his mother scolded him, if the gossip were to be taken at face value from the maids. Arya and Bran sitting with him was feasible since they were too young to understand what a bastard was, and for some strange reason, Lady Stark never made a fuss. But Robb was different, he was the heir, and decorum had to be set. The heir sitting down with the “Bastard of Winterfell” was, though not out of ordinary, was still frown upon when the family dined together.

The heated glare sent his way when he looked up and locked eyes with lady Stark told him all he needed to know. A smirk was his answer to her, her scowl grew even more, and he realized he did not care. ‘Scowl all you want my lady, but every day I realize, your hate has no hold on me.’ Jon couldn’t help but snicker at the thought.

All throughout supper, anytime Jon would look up, he was met with icy glares from the lady Catelyn, and he would return them in fold, something that was not lost on Robb and their Lord father.

Once the two had their fill. Robb, with a gesture with his head, told Jon to follow him. As they made their leave, Jon could feel Lady Starks stares burning the back of his head. Still he cared little. For the first time in a long time, Jon truly felt free. Free in knowing the lady's look no longer had any power over him. The two boys walked in a pleasant silence to Robb's room passing the guards that nodded to Robb in respect. Entering the room, Robb latch the door close so they could not be so easily interrupted.

Jon took a seat on Robb's bed as he watched him pace back and forth like an animal. Robb said nothing, and Jon was losing his patience with his brother. So Jon began the conversation questioning his brother on his earlier behaviors regarding both Theon, and the constant defiance by seating with him at the servants table.

“You know Robb,” Jon begins with mirth in his voice. “It's not a good idea to have your mother mad at you. You are the heir to Winterfell, and certain decorum is needed and required of you.”

It seems Robb did not hear him, or just refused to listen. All he did was pace more. Before Jon could say more he was interrupted by Robb.

Robb stopped his pacing and pierce Jon with a stare that Jon couldn't escape, even if he wanted too. “I’ve decided,” Robb began. “I've thought this plenty a night on what to give you for your tenth name day brother of mine, and nothing but one thing comes to mind. We are not only brothers,” Robb waved his hands between the two to make his point. “We are the best of friends, I trust no one more than I trust you Jon.” Jon, wanting to confirm the same to Robb, was interrupted with a raise of Robb's hand.

“We may not share the same mother, nor name, but we share the same father, and by the Old Gods and New, I am tired of watching others treat you without the respect you deserved. So, I'll talk to father and have him legitimize you on your name day, and if he refuses,” Jon watches as Robb squeezes his hand in a fist and eyes alight with the frozen fires of the North, “then I'll personally legitimize you when I am lord of Winterfell.”

Jon could not believe it. He was both shocked and happy, with many more emotions running through his young mind. As tears came forth unabashed, all he could do was to embrace his brother and cry on his shoulder.

“It's okay brother,” Robb whispered to him. “You shall no longer be a Snow, but a Stark. Either by your tenth name day, or once I am lord.” Jon knew his brother, and once his stubborn mind was made up, nothing less than the Gods themselves could change them.

Once more Jon falters, knowing in two days he shall disappear from Winterfell. ‘Would it be so bad if I were to stay?’ His young and treacherous mind whispers to him.

‘I could tell Robb the truth, he'll believe me, and together I know we can convince father and he could prepare for the war to come.’ Just as fast as the thoughts came, they left his mind. If his brother was willing to fight for him, not just his parents but millennials old rules, then his leaving was for the best. Learning from the Three Eyed Crow was the right choice to be made. ‘It’s the least I can do to protect you all.’

So Jon cries as he holds his brother given to him by blood and chosen by choice. While Robb soothes his brother thinking his tears were tears of joy, and so he sheds happy tears with his brother, knowing sooner or later, the North shall gain another Stark.

When supper came, Robb once more joined Jon, a heavy fog was felt in the great hall. For the lady of Winterfell eyes never waiver on her son and heir, and the Bastard of Winterfell sitting, eating and laughing without a care in the world on the low tables. Nothing moved Robb, not even when Maester Luwin came and whispered to him. Jon had no need to hear what was spoken to know what was said. Even a fool would know-and the sympathetic look Maester Luwin sent him confirmed his thoughts that Lady Stark wanted Robb at the high table. Yet Robb stayed, defying his lady mother's wishes, for his low born brother.

Hours later, both boys would find themselves in front of their father's solar. Robb being eager and understanding to begin, while Jon is shy and afraid to knock and move forward. The two guards standing vigil would occasionally look at the two, but stayed quiet. Robb and the guards watch on as Jon paces back and forth, stops at the door, raises his hand to knock, only to stop and resume his pacing.

It felt like hours passed before Robb grew bored and irritated waiting on Jon to make up his mind, so he made it up for him instead by knocking, and earning an irritated “I’m not ready yet” from Jon.

As the two boys argued and glared at each other, the door to their father’s solar door opened, and there stood the man they came to see.

“Boys?” Their father said as a way of greetings and needing an explanation on why they were knocking at his solar.

It was Robb as usual that took the lead. “Jon needs to speak to you father.”

“Very well” answered Ned after a beat of silence and silent appraising of the two boys. Turning around, Ned bids them permission to enter his solar.

As the two boys follow Ned inside, Jon stops in his tracks when his eyes land on the Lady Stark sitting on the sofa in the far corner, with her cold eyes taking him in. Before she could open her mouth to say anything to him, Robb jumped in and forced her focus on himself.

“Ah mother!” Robb exclaimed. Walking over and taking a seat on the sofa, Robb took her hand in his, and smiled at his mother. Jon watches as a smile lit Lady Stark’s face. It never stops surprising Jon whenever he witnesses the interaction and warmth she’s able to display when it comes to her children.

Jon's heart clenches taking in the beautiful scene… ‘Mother’ he couldn’t help but to think. The simple word so foreign to his young mind.

It did not take long before Robb was able to convince his mother to leave with him and give the two privacy. Jon had to roll his eyes, for when Robb passes him, the giant smile on his face and the thumbs up he gives Jon was anything but subtle. Jon could only groan while shaking his head at his brother's lack of tact.

Silence reigned in the room, Ned waiting patiently for his son to begin, while Jon sat on awkwardly and twisting his fingers in nervousness, not knowing how to begin. After another bout of silence, with his head hung low in shame, Jon rushes out his apology to his father.

“I…am sorry father” he squeaks out, “for all the things I said the last time I was here. I was mad, not at you per say, I was not myself, and I said some things I should have not, and I truly beg for your forgiveness.”

As Jon was finished speaking, he dared to raise his head to look upon his father, and he was struck by what he saw. For before him, tears were running down his lord father's face, wetting his beard. Next thing Jon saw was his father walking from behind his desk and kneeling before him, then enveloping him in a bone crushing hug. For the first time in a long time, Jon truly felt the warmth his siblings always felt whenever their parents smile or praise them. More tears flow from his eyes from his father’s next sentence.

“There’s nothing to forgive my boy” whispers Ned, “for if I were in your position, I would have demanded the same from my father.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have spoken...” Jon barely had the words out before he was shushed by Ned putting his finger on his lips.

Ned smiles at his son. “As I said before, you had every right to ask me of her. It is just painful still to speak of her.”

Eyes still lock on, Ned began. “I feel you are still too young to know the full truth, but know this my boy” -Ned pull back a little and squeezes his son's shoulder- “your mother loves you very much, and If you were to forget anything in this life, never forget her love for you my son.”

A hiccup left the boy's throat, and with a meek voice he questioned his father. “What of you father? Do you love me as well?”

“Of course I love you Jon!” Ned was quick to exclaim. “My love for you is as strong as my love for Robb, Sansa, Arya and Bran. Never forget that alright. I may not show it as much, but I do love you.”

Jon said nothing, but shook his head.

“Here's a vow to you Jon, once I believe you old enough, I swear on the Old Gods, we shall sit down, and I shall tell you all there is to know of your mother.”

Jon shook his head again as an answer while more tears flowed, while listening to his father's vow. As the sun descended behind the mountains to slumber, father and son talked. They talked of nothing of importance, but talked they did, and Jon learned more of his father then.

‘It's true what the stories say of you, you truly are an honorable man Eddard Stark, and I'm proud to be your son. Bastard or not, and I swear on the Old Gods and New, I shall make you proud of me and protect our pact.’ Jon vows as he listens and watches his father.

Jon barely slept for a few hours before he was forced to awaken by the loud banging on his door. Opening it he saw Robb with little Bran in his arms, and Arya as usual jumping from one leg to another, too much energy for her good, and not knowing the meaning of staying still for a moment waiting for him.

“Let's go Jon!” Arya all but screamed at him while grabbing his arm and dragging him away. Jon shot Robb a look that meant answers were needed. “Calm down Arya” says Robb. Looking at Jon, Robb fills him in. “It seems that later today, father's letting us go to winter town to watch the play.” Jon heart skipped a beat hearing the news.

_**The Young Wolf** _

After waking, and with Arya and Bran, they ended up dragging Jon to the dining hall with them to break their fast. Seating down at the lower table -minus Sansa of course, for she believes true borne should not associate with bastards, thanks to their mothers way of thinking- the four began to pile foods on their plates. Their breakfast consisted of dark fried bacon, fried eggs, bread still warm from being pulled from the oven, with milk and water to wash it down.

As they are, Robb watches as Arya tries explaining the day's events that are to come to Jon. And the more excited she becomes, the more she fails to properly form her thoughts. As her frustration and anger grew, the more her words made no sense, so Jon had looked to him for help. “Calm yourself little sister, and take your time explaining,” Robb couldn’t help but laugh at Arya's frustrated face.

With a smirk from Robb, and a frustrated grunt from Arya , Robb instead explained the stipulations set by their father before venturing to winter town to watch the theater group. The stipulations were to complete all the chores required of them, no exceptions.

As they ate their food, Robb cast unknowing glances to Jon. His brother was different Robb observed. Jon is still his melancholy self, but sometimes when Jon believes no one was watching him, or when he played with his siblings, this look entered his eyes. It was a look of both happiness and sadness. Though Robb was still a child himself, he was always praised by Maester Luwin in his ability to read others even at such a young age. According to Maester Luwin, that was an ability all great leaders possess, some leaders earn this ability by leading others, while others like himself naturally possess it. He scoffed at the idea at first, but when Maester Luwin claimed his father possessed that same ability as a child himself, he was jubilant, knowing he was one step closer to being the great man his father is.

So as he sat across from his brother eating his food, he watched him play with Arya, and yes, at that moment he knew Jon was hiding something from him. Though they held no secret from each other, something only the two shared. Not even Theon whom he chooses as his brother was elevated to such a level of trust. Not yet anyway. ‘It must be important for Jon not wanting to tell me...No matter he'll tell me once he's ready.’

Arriving at the training ground, Robb saw that the three of them were the only ones present and ready to train. “Must have something to do with Maester Luwin releasing us far earlier than usual when he realized we weren't paying any attention” exclaimed Theon.

Looking around, the boys realize not only there were no trainees, it seems even Ser Rodrik himself was absent. A mischievous look entered Robb's eyes. “You know Jon, with Ser Rodrik not here, what say you and I have a little spar with just our blades, no training gear?”

“Are you sure Stark?” Answers Jon with a smirk playing on his lips.

“Aye, let's get to it Snow!” Robb answers with a smirk on his face, while turning to Theon, and making him the judge to their little bout.

“First to land a Vital hit wins?” Robb put forth the rules.

“Aye!” Agrees Jon.”

“Fine!” Theon answers while rolling his eyes at the two brothers laying out the rules. “But, after you two are done, I challenge the both of you to an archery contest!” Theon yelled out. Both brothers rolled their eyes at the Greyjoy's heir answer, though it was no surprise to Jon and himself. Theon may not be a swordsman, probably will be anything but a mediocre one at best, since he was so lazy, but he made up for such shortcomings with his archery skills. Something he never let the two forget, and both boys begrudgingly respected his skills. Though Jon has yet to outright praise him, and never will, ‘les the Greyjoy heir ego rises too high’ Jon once told him.

‘By the Old Gods and New,’ Robb silently agreed, ‘for that’s the last thing Theon needs to fill his already high ego’

Both boys squared off with their training sword in hand. Robb watches as Jon took a two handed low defensive stance, whereas he took a mid-two handed stance. Between the two, Robb knew he was the stronger one, whereas Jon was the fastest. As Theon gave the command, Robb charged forward with a strong two handed downward strike, wanting to grab Jon by surprise. Jon chose to parry instead of blocking. Using the momentum from the parry, Jon sidestepped to Robb's left. Tightening his grip, Jon pulled back his sword halfway to him and shot forward with a powerful thrust that if Robb had not blocked would have taken at least one rib and left it bruised for the rest of the day.

Though both boys knew this was training, when it comes to testing their melee against the other, they both knew not to hold back too much.

Dropping to a low ground, Robb swipes his blade aiming for Jon's leg, only for Jon to jump and retaliate with a kick. Robb, still low to the ground, rolled to the side, and coming back up, Robb swung from his downward position, coming close to hitting Jon in his solar, and Jon's only saving grace was jumping back to give him a few seconds of breathing room.

Both boys stood up and faced each other again, and began to circle one another looking for weakness. None was found yet.

“Not bad Snow!” Robb exclaimed with a smile on his face.

“Could say the same to you Stark.” Replied Jon. His own identical smirk on his face.

Being the brother of Jon, Robb could say without hesitation, he knew Jon the best, with the other being Jon himself. So he knew for a fact, the smirk that played on Jon’s face, was one full of happiness. Watching Jon’s smile, only one thought entered his mind. ‘Yes brother, I shall end your shame, either by your name day, or once I am lord. Yes, it shall be done, and damn anyone who claims otherwise. For I refuse to allow you to walk through life without the happiness you so rightly deserve.’

“By the drowned Gods, are you two going to just stand there and praise each other like two old maids? Or are you two going to fight?” Exclaimed Theon.

“Shut up Theon/Greyjoy!” Both brothers responded, not even looking his way. Both boys once more charged each other, and once more they proved even. The fight continued with neither boys truly gaining any advantages. Both boys were tired, their limbs burning from so much exertion, but all the while, the smirks on their faces never waiver. It was in these moments both boys realize how much they love one other. They were truly brothers, no if, or but.

Both knew this was to be the last charge, in the end one would fall, and neither one wanted to be the one to fall first. Their battle was one of competition between friends, comrades, family, but more importantly, brothers. No more, no less.

With a twin roar, both charges forward, and with a twin grunt, both came to a standstill with their blades crossing each other in a defensive stance, with both brothers fighting for supremacy, and neither giving away an inch. Blades still lock together, Jon begins to be pushed back by Robb, and in Robb’s eagerness to win, pushes even harder, thinking it was all his doing. Next Robb knew, he was looking up at Jon, with said boy sword held to his throat.

“Yield!” Jon wheezes out. It took Robb a few minutes to understand what happened, still looking up at Jon, Robb smiled. “I yield.”

“What happened?” Robb wheezes out as Jon helps him up. As Robb stood up and wiped the mud from his clothes, he continued. “All I remember was pushing you back, and next I knew, I was falling and you had your sword to my throat.”

“I purposely let you push me back,” answered Jon. Like himself, Jon was still out of breath, so Robb waited as Jon took multiple deep breaths before he could answer him.

After taking multiple breaths of air to calm his beating heart, Jon began. “I knew I could not beat you in neither strength nor defense,” —following Jon’s hand pointing down at their feet, Robb saw the multiple broken frozen pieces of ice on the ground— “so I use the field and my speed to my advantage, and by allowing you to push me back, you let your guard down thinking you had the fight won.” Robb patiently waited on Jon to once more catch his breath, only to scold when Theon rudely interrupted them.

It seems Jon didn’t care enough about Theon's interruption, because after catching his breath, he continued his explanation to Robb. “I knew this side of the field was still frozen over, and in your haste, you completely forgot that, and once I had you on this side, it was easy to have you lose your footing. And once you lost said footing,” Jon shrugs his shoulders, “the rest was history.”

It took a minute for Robb to contemplate Jon's lengthy explanation, but once he did he left out a boisterous laugh.

“My God Jon!” Robb exclaimed. “It is true what Jory said.” A queer look fall upon said boy visage, “and what did he say exactly?” Replied Jon. “He claimed you a prodigy with the blade, and I have to say brother, I am starting to believe him.”

Robb watches the emotions play on Jon’s face before settling on annoyance. Only to chuckle when Jon scoffs at being called a prodigy.

“I am not a damn prodigy,” Jon said with a hiss. “I also did not best you with the sword because I was better. I simply just use my environment better than you.” It seems Jon's answer didn't even register with Robb. For next Jon knew, Robb was slapping him on his back and congratulating him some more.

“Worry not brother of mine, for the next fight shall be mine to claim,” continued Robb with a smile that took his whole face.

“We'll see brother of mine” Jon answered Robb with a wide smile on his face..

“Now, let's put these swords away before Ser Rodrik discovers us, for I am too sore for any punishment he might entertain giving us.” Robb said while stretching out his sore muscle form the exertions of his fight.

“Now that the two of you had your fun, the archery ground is next proclaimed Theon.” Both Jon and Robb, as weak and sore they were, had completely forgotten about Theon and his challenge.  
With a grin at the two, they follow the Greyjoy's lead. knowing a lost was upon them, both brothers left out identical grunts that had Theon smirking all the more.

_**The Honorable Wolf** _

Unbeknownst to the two brothers, their fights were being witnessed by their lord father, the lady of Winterfell and the master of arms Ser Rodrik. All three adults held variants looks upon their faces. The lady of Winterfell was vexed that her son was once more bested by the bastard of her husband. While Ser Rodrik looked on with pride. Knowing his teaching was being passed on to the next generations. But the most important reaction was the one the lord of Winterfell showed. He was proud of his boys. Though he knew his sons were close, and treated each other as true siblings. A small part of him feared Robb would be vexed for his loss, but when he saw the smile on their faces, happiness bloom in his heart. Though he could not hear what was being said, it seems there was no resentment from Robb. ‘Good, that's how true Northman…. Nay, true brothers should ever act.’

"The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

"Aye," agreed Ser Rodrik, hearing his Lord's word.

“Tell me Ser Rodrik, what did you see? And speak true” commanded Ned before he could begin.

Said man took a full breath before he answered his lord. “Both boys are even with the sword, but at the same times, each possess certain qualities unique to themselves, they might change as they grow, or it might stay the same depending on the style they choose to focus more on. “Robb is stronger in both strength and defense, whereas Jon is faster and more agile. But the unique thing about Jon was the way even in heated combat, he is still aware of his environment, as he just proved against the young heir. Watching the fight, I can see why my nephew claimed him a prodigy.”

Ser Rodrik and the lady watches as their lord contemplates the answer his master at arms had given. Before them stood not a father, but the ‘Lord Paramount of the North,’ the man known as the ‘Quiet Wolf.’ For even, after watching his son’s battle each other, his mind was whirling with thoughts on how to better educate them. It was said Eddard Stark never did anything without cause, and seconds later he proved rumors true.

“Good, it seems I am not alone when it comes to those two Ser Rodrik.”

“Aye me lord.” His master-at-arms was quick to answer him.

“Next you have them on the training field, have them face a strong opponent together, I want to see their ability to work together without the use of words. Push them to their limits, and once they reach their breaking point, push more, and demand more!”

“Aye me lord, It shall be done,” answered Ser Rodrik with a predator smile on his face that smelled blood.

“My love,” lady Catelyn interrupted before her husband could continue. “Are you sure it's such a good idea to push Robb so much? He is a boy still.” Both men did not fail to hear her lack of Jon's name being mentioned. Ser Rodrik, knowing it was not his place, stayed quiet. With a dismissive glance from his lord, Ser Rodrik bowed and turned to leave. Only to be stopped by his lords next order.

“Though I was appreciative of their display, and I learned many things from them,” a small smile entered Ned's face as he praised his sons. “Punishment must still be given for breaking the rules on training without protective armor, and someone to watch over them. Let them know, that just because they are my sons, does not mean they are exempt from the rules.”

“Aye me lord.” A giant smile crept up Ser Rodrik's face, knowing exactly what the punishment would be. “It seems that Hodor shall have help cleaning the stables for the next few days.”

“Make it seven days,” interrupted his lord. “Add Theon to the list as well,” though he did not participate in the fight, he was just as complacent.

“Aye me lord,” and with that Ser Rodrik took his leave.

The second Ser Rodrik rounded the corner, his easy demeanor lifted as he faced his wife. Ned grasps his wife's hands and holds them to him, and begins speaking. “One day my love I'll be gone.” Ned gave his wife a look before she could deny the truth, “and Winterfell would look to Robb to lead. You may not like it, but when that time comes, Jon shall be Robb's greatest of allies. Jon loves his siblings, and I know you hold no love for the boy, but that is a truth you cannot deny.”

"Not if you make him take the Black." Was all she could say, eyes blazing.

Ned took a deep breath before giving his wife his answer “I'll not force such an arduous task on a boy so young. Better yet, Ti’s not my decision to make. Worse still, Robb and Arya would never forgive me if I were to force their own brother, bastard or not to take the Black and force him from home. Once he is grown,” continued Ned, “and the Black is where he chooses to serve, I’ll not stop him, but I shan't bring it up first, lest he believe I am trying to influence his decision.”

All the while as Ned spoke to his wife. His eyes are full of hope, pain, regrets. Hoping she understood where he stood, not just as the ‘Lord of Winterfell,’ but also as a father. His eyes captured hers, and she was left powerless. After a beat, she gave him her answer.

“You've betrayed my honor for nearly ten years Ned. Yet no matter how much I ask, you never felt me worthy enough to know the name of the woman that birthed him. I know when we were first wed, we held no love for the other. I could understand that. Even more I can still understand you sleeping with a woman when you believed you'll not come back, but it's been ten years my love. Do you not believe I am owed the truth of his birth?”

Ned watches as his wife shallow, the motion of her muscle constricting. Ned had no idea why his mind went there, but before he could ponder more, her voice brought him back to the present.

“So here and now husband, tell me her name, and all shall be laid to rest. I swear it, by the seven and the Old Gods!”

_**The Lady Of Winterfell** _

Catelyn waited with baited breath for her husband’s answer. She watches the different emotions that he failed to keep hidden from her. Many things have been spoken of Catelyn Stark, true or not. There have always been two absolute truths the North knows, her love and devotion for her husband and children were only surpassed by her indifference and loathness for her husband's dishonor.

So as she stands in front of her husband, she awaits his answer. For a mere second, Catelyn caught a look of surrender on her love face, and her heart skipped a beat, believing the truth would finally be spoken out loud. Like all things in life, that hope was shattered, and her lord husband once more morphed into the ‘Lord protector of the North.’ The man he's bannermans sees and nicknamed the ‘Quiet Wolf,’ and just like that, Catelyn removed her hands from her husband and stood back.

“I see,” Catelyn responded after a beat, all warmth leaving her eyes. “Very well then husband, I see after nearly ten years of marriage, and four children, when it comes to that boy, all am good for are naught but half-truth and secrets.”

With that, Lady Stark turned her back and walked away from her husband, not sparing him a look even after he called and pleaded to her.

_**The Honorable Wolf** _

"Seven Hells!” he whispers, instead of doing what he really wanted, scream into the heavens and release his frustrations. But as lord, he knew certain things weren’t allowed, and screaming out his frustrations out loud was certainly not one of them. Decorum at all times must be maintained.

‘I am so sorry Cat, but this is a secret not even you can know.’

As he watches on from above at his sons below, Ned knew it was the right choice. Even till this day, he knew they still spoke of his dishonoring of his vows all those years ago when it was made known that Jon was his. At the time Ned cared less of honor. All he cared about was keeping his promise to his little sister. For she was right, if it was ever made known who Jon's true parentage were, Robert would have hunted the child down and killed him. Not caring that the child carried a piece of the women he claimed to have loved above all else.

After what Robert allowed to happen to the two Targaryen's children and their mother, he knew he made the right decision. That day, the friendship, the brotherhood they shared splintered. That day Ned saw a man, that in his grief would callously allowed rape and the murder of innocent children's go unpunished, all because of the blood in their veins.

Ned remembered that day in his mind as fresh as he remembered holding his newborn children. It sickened him so.

“What have you done Robert?” Ned seethed in the throne room.

“I did what I had to!” Robert's voice boomed in the throne room, seated upon the Iron Throne, created by Aegon and his dragon Balerion three hundred years. Those dragon spawns deserved to die!”

Ned’s body shook in his rage the more Robert spoke out. “What of their mother? Was she deserving to be raped? Did you not fight a war because the woman you love was raped?” Ned continued on.

Ned saw a look of pain entered Robert's eye, and before he could capitalize on it, Tywin Lannister interfered.

“Ti’s a shame what happened to Princess Elia lord Stark,” the old lion jumped in “but evil deeds do happen sometimes in wars. It is not the King's, nor anyone's else fault of what happened here.”

“It matters not,” Stannis Baratheon spoke up before Ned could refute the cunning old lion. “Justice must be delivered to those who performed such atrocities.” Ned watches as Stannis Baratheon grinds his teeth, all the while his eyes are fixed on the old lion. “It was your man Lord Lannister that murder those three, bring them forth so justice must be preserve, or present your own neck as compensation.”

Ned was surprised, of all the people that would side with him, Stannis Baratheon never crossed his mind. Though he hardly ever spoke to the man the few times he met him, he appreciated the backing nonetheless.

Ned shook with fury, and his eyes froze all in the thrones room. Worse yet, when Ned had looked to Jon Arynn, the man he considered more of a father than the actual man that was responsible for his birth, turned his eyes from him, left Ned with one answer. So with a disgusted look and a bow of “your Grace” with no warmth behind said words, Ned took his leave of his King's Landing.

On that fateful day, Ned had said fucked to honor, and chose his family first, and realm second. Their friendship laid in ruins, no words were ever spoken again. It was not until the Greyjoy rebellion did they see one another, though they talk and forgive one another for hasty decisions, but on Ned’s part, the true friendship and fatherhood they once held for each other, though he still loved them, was gone… so was the trust.

Not a day goes by has he ever regretted protecting Jon. The three choices he has regretted were not being allowed to name Jon a Stark, the pain he forced his wife to suffer when he presented Jon to her as his. And not allowing Benjen to be privy to the truth.

So watching his two boys laugh in the yard, he knew the decision made so long ago was the right one. “Fuck honor!” He whispered. “Family comes first.”

_**The Bastard Of Winterfell** _

It would seem their exploits didn't go as planned after all. After Theon had finished beating Robb and himself in the archery range, Ser Rodrik had appeared like a spectre from one of old Nan stories to lay a harsh tongue lashing on the three for disobeying the rules set forth by past master of arms and Lords of Winterfell.

“You bloody idiots!” Ser Rodrik had yelled at Robb and him. “What if something had happened to you two huh?!” Not giving them a chance to respond, he continued on. “There's a bloody reason for such precautions, for even training swords can kill if you land a hit properly.” By the time Ser Rodrik was done speaking, he's face had grown red, and his beard filled with spittle. So now, here the three were in the stables, shoveling shits and up-keeping said stables with Hodor.

This was one of their punishments coming from Lord Stark himself according to Ser Rodrik. Said punishments lasting a full week. But all was not lost still, for this afternoon they were still being allowed to leave for Winter town to see the play. ‘Thank the Old Gods,’ —Jon thought as he shoveled shits— for the plan that was enacted by the Three Eyed Crow, Benjen Stark and himself was still in play.

“You two miss a spot,’’ said Theon while munching an apple. Both brothers turned to look his way with a withering look. Since their punishment began, all Theon accomplished was to moan and bitch about how it was unfair to do such a crude chore. Many a time Jon had to hold his tongue. In Jon's mind, if the future heir of Winterfell was not exempt from punishment, why would a political prisoner be exempt. The only reason he held his tongue was knowing of his leaving this night, and not wanting to start a fight where Robb had to play peacekeeper between them.

But it seems even Robb's patience grew thin of the Greyjoy's constant moaning. Dual feral looks appeared on the brothers face as they advanced on Theon, and before the Ironborn knew what transpired, he was shoved into the pile of hay.

That was a few hours ago. As Jon lays in bed, he awaits for night to arrive where the Starks shall head to winter town. Supper was forgo, instead it was decided the family would dine in the delicacies the troupe brought with them from the South. Sansa had a squeal when she heard the news. ‘That girl loves the south far too much.’

Wanting to be alert for the night, Jon tried forcing himself to sleep, yet sleep was denied to him. After nearly a full hour of trying, Jon gave up said task, and with a frustrated sigh, Jon got up and began to pack the few essentials that might come in handy for the long night ahead.

Grabbing the small satchel, Jon filled it with nothing but dried meat, bread and a water skin full of water for him and uncle Benjen. Knowing his uncle might come prepared with all three essentials, Jon still wanted to prepare himself. Like the Crow harped on, ‘do not expect others to be prepared for your sake’ the Crows words echoed in his head.

For protection, Jon strapped two daggers on his persons. One around his waist, and the other in his right boots. Though he had all the confidence in his uncle's prowess to protect him, he would have felt naked without some kind of weapon on him. A cloak with a white wolf pelt given to him by Robb as an early present finished his preparation.

By the time Jon was finished packing, it was time to head out. “This is it huh?” Jon surveys his room one last time, remembering both the good and bad times. The laughter and the tears shed with his brothers, and by his lonesome, and with a resolved no child, not even having lived past ten years should ever possess, turned and closed the doors forever.

Jon met his family outside of the gates of Winterfell, nothing changed from this morning to now. Robb, Bran and Arya welcomed him with open arms and smiles. His father with a nod, Theon with a smirk, while Sansa and lady Catelyn with indifference. They were accompanied by Jeyne Poole, Sansa's best friend. With Ser Rodrick, Jory Cassel, with ten soldiers to protect their lord and his family.

It did not take long to arrive in Winter Town. Once there, Arya and Bran begin running around causing mischief for the lady. Even Sansa, ever the lady in all things, was having fun with her friend Jeyne. All the children were given a wide space to enjoy the many food stalls line up from and South. So like the children they were, they ran to satiate both their hunger and palate. Even the lady Stark was less hostile to him this evening.

Through it all, Jon keeps his eyes open for his uncle Benjen. Though, if what the Three Eyed Crow told him was true —which he saw no reason to lie to him— his uncle's glimmer would be perfect, or near to it. So he kept watch with a man wearing a bronze wolf around their neck.

"You!” A strong but wizened voice called to the three boys and their guards to a stop. Turning to their left, they spy an old man dressed in a robe as black as night, sitting behind a table with a clear ball made out of glass.

“The fuck you want old man?” Questioned Theon in his ever so arrogant voice. If the old man was insulted, his outward appearance shows no slight. Their only answer was a small laugh followed by a cough.

“Come closer children, and I shall tell you what I am.” The old man answers, while waving them over with his wrinkled bony hand. Upon closer, you could see multiple spots, only seen on the old.

“It is not safe, my young lord,” said one of the guards to Robb before the three could move forward.

“Nonsense answered Robb. This is the North, and none is foolish enough to attack the sons of Winterfell, lest they wished their head to depart from their body.” Jon couldn’t but frown at such a dangerous thought, and only at the guards, they too felt the same. At the moment though, he chose to keep his thoughts to himself.

“Still my lord, one of the guards persisted.” Once more, Robb put a stop to them, and without waiting for an answer marches toward the old man.

“What is it you do my good man?” Robb questioned once he was just a breath from the old man. All that separated them was a small round table. Jon watches as the two guards tense, and how their eyes scan the old man, or how their hands tightened on their spears and ready to pounce if any harm were to threaten their young lord. Though the guards were young, Jory himself chose them to follow the three of them when their lord father gave them leave to walk around without the adults and their younger siblings.

‘Their good.’

The old man let out a small laugh mixed with a cough. “I am what you called a seer, I received visions of the past, present, and sometimes the future from my Gods.” Silence reigned, until a derived snort left Theon throat.

“No such thing” Theon began, “And if it's true, why the fuck would the Gods choose a senile old man such as you?” Pointing at the old man before them, Theon finishes with an insult. “By the look of you being so close to death's door?”

‘A few months ago, I would have agreed with the idiot, but after all I've seen, though dreams they may be, I know them to be true.’

Jon had not realized how space out he was until Robb was literally shaking him. “You well brother?” Robb questioned him with a worried look on his face.

“I’m fine, just thinking.” Jon was quick to lie. A queer look passed Robb's face before he let the subject go. ‘For now, once we're away from prying eyes and ears, he’ll begin to question me.’

“Tell me seer, what do you see concerning us?” Questioned Robb.

“Come now Robb, don't be taken by this old fool” laughs Theon. “All he desires are your coins.”

A beat of silence passed before the old man answered. Locking us with Theon, he shook the boy with his answers. “You are named Theon Greyjoy, one of the heirs to the Iron Islands.” Theon let out a loud laugh full of derived contempt.

“That's all?! Really?! Everyone knows who I am. Your answers are nothing a liar and thief couldn't find. See, I told you he was a fake” said Theon while turning to Robb. “If you two wishes to waste your precious coin on such shits, you'll do it without me.”

As Theon turned to leave, he was stopped in his tracks by the old man's next words. “The first night you came to Winterfell, you were scared, but Lord Stark made you a promise. Said promise was to protect you from all harms, even from the King, his best friend.” Jon watches as the old man wet his dry lips before he continues. “I believe the exact words were... No matter what happens young one, even if the Iron Islands go to war against the crown once more, as long as you live in the North, as long as a Stark rules Winterfell, no harm shall befall you, not even if the King wishes for it.”

Silence befell the boys. Not knowing if the truth was spoken or not, but as they turned to question Theon, said boy was shaking, and silent tears fell from his eyes. And as Robb moved forward, Theon in his embarrassment turned and ran. Not once has Jon ever seen the older boy look so weak, so fragile. It was then Jon knew, for all of Theon's bravado, it was all but a show. An armor he surrounds himself with, so none could hurt him. After all, he was a lonely Kraken all by himself on land, surrounded not by enemies, but neither allies —Minus a few— Jon's respect for Theon's rose a tiny amount.

Jon and Robb shared a look, and both turned to go after the Greyjoy. Before they could go any further, the old man once more stopped them. “Do you two not wish to know your futures?” He wheezes out.

“Sorry old man,” answers Robb, “but Theon needs us.” The old man only chuckles.

“You maybe young wolf, but not him.” He pointed his gainly fingers in Jon's direction. As Jon turned to give the old man a retort, his eyes landed on the bronze wolf medallion around his neck. He knew then who the old man was. With a heavy heart, Jon turns to his brother.

“He’s right,” he answers. “He'll speak more openly with you if I am not there. Come find me once he's calm down, I shall be here waiting for you brother of mine.”

“Fine,” Robb answered after a beat, but one of the guards shall stay with you just to be safe, and with a shake of his head knowing of Jon’s protest, Robb sped up to look for Theon with one of the guards right up his heel.

Jon watches his brother's retreat back until it becomes naught but a speck, he watches still until he all but disappears. Yet he watches on, knowing they'll not see each other for years to come. He was happy that the lady Catelyn had taken the reign on Arya and Bran by not allowing them to come with the three of them. For if they had come, it would have been far harder to leave.

Spying the guard in his peripheral vision, Jon's mind went to work.

‘How do I lose him?’

Jon begins to look around, searching for the rest of their party just to be safe. Not spotting any of them, Jon released another sigh of relief.

‘Another obstacle I need not deal with.’

Once more spying the guard, Jon turns to him. “You know” he questioned the guard. “Would it not be in the best interest of all to go after the next heir to Winterfell?”

The guard said nothing.

A scowl made itself present on Jon’s face from the guards' silence. “I am just a bastard” Jon all but growl, “and he is the heir! If anything were to happen to him, what would you say to your lord?”

The guard regarded the young boy for a second before answering. “Bastard or not young one, Starks blood flows in your veins, and I've sworn to serve the Starks. Bastard or not, I have been tasked by my Lord to protect you, and that is what I shall do.”

‘Great, of all the guards to be stuck with, I am stuck with the one that cares little about my title.’

Jon shot the guard a look of annoyance, only for said scowl to depend furthermore when the guard returned with a smile on his face.

“You know” the guard begins. “I care little of your status, as long as you are under my care, I shall protect you with all I am. Plus from what I’ve witnessed with the young heir, neither does he care about your status.”

Before Jon could respond, the Old seer he had all but forgotten about cleared his throat. Spinning around, Jon once more regarded him and his eyes zeroed on the necklace adorning his neck. Part of him wanted to believe this was his uncle Benjen in glamor coming to spirit him away. But he remembered the Crow’s explaining how the glamor worked. All who's eyes fell upon the man wearing the necklace would see someone else the Crow had explained. Yet all who have laid upon him saw but an old man.

‘Could this be naught but mere coincidence?’

As Jon watches the old man sitting hunched in his chair, a crow whom Jon had become familiar with in the past months lands on the old man's shoulder. Just like that, his silent question was answered.

Jon took a breath and stepped forward to the table, and waited.

‘How will you take me from here with a guard watching our every move without violence? Worse yet, how shall we escape from Winter Town when it's still so lively?’

Jon's thought was in such disarray that he failed to hear the old man's next words. It was not till the guard stepped forward and declared in no way would he allow the boy into his tent did he come too.

“Forgive me Ser.” The old man responds. “If you wish so, you too can come inside and survey. The only reason I go into my tent is for privacy, for I believe no one wants their story out in the open where all can hear.

‘So that's your plan huh. Pretty clever dear uncle. Give him naught but a choice to come inside, then strike.’

“What say you boy?” The guard questioned Jon.

“It's all right, I have no problem with it” Jon answered after a beat of silence.

“Very well then,” said the guard, “but you shall go first old man, I second, with the boy close behind me.” As the old man rose from his chair and turned toward his tent, he was stopped by the guards' next cold words. If you're foolish enough to try something, I'll strike you down where you stand.

Jon was surprised by the guard words. Then again, if the words the guard spoke just a few minutes were sincere, then he shouldn’t be so surprised. So he said a small prayer.

‘I hope you live a long life, and be blessed with many children, and your children inherit your good heart for this world needs people like you.’

As the old man disappeared behind the flap of his tent, the guard gave Jon a look that told him to follow him, but to be weary. As Jon followed the guard into the tent, a mere five second pass, and not even before the flap could settle down, the guard slump to the ground on his knees, his spear slacked in his hands, only thing keeping him up as he fought the coming darkness. Then the spell took hold, and he slumped to the ground, no longer able to fight the sleep.

As Jon fully enters the darken tent, with only a candle as a source of light, he watches as his uncle, still in his disguise, wipes his hands with what he assumes is a wet rag.

“Sleeping powder given to me by the Three Eye Crow Benjen answered the unspoken question.”

“Will he be fine once he wakes?” Jon questions watching the guard on the ground.

“Aye, he'll be fine. He'll suffer from a strong headache, no more.” The old man answered.

“That is you right uncle Benjen?” Jon questions with a small fright in voice. For all that's happened so far, even with the crow that he knew that belonged to the Three Eyed Crow perched on the old man’s shoulder, part of him was still scared this was just but a mere coincidence. Even with the knowledge he had on Greyjoy, for all he knew, this old man was a nefarious fiend ready to kidnap him. ‘By the Old and the New, I hope I’ve not gone crazy!’

The old man turns to look at Jon, and release a warm chuckle. “Sorry nephew, he answered. I forgot the necklace is still around me.” The second the necklace was removed from his neck, the glamour dropped, and there before Jon stood his uncle, the epitome of the North staring back at him. His blueish grey eyes full of warmth, long black hair sleek back cascade to his shoulder, a full beard on his face, and dress in the black of his brotherhood vows taking so long ago.  
Jon rushes forward and launches himself at his uncle. So sudden was Jon, that Benjen if not for his reflexes would have miss his nephew. Jon for his part crushed his uncle in a familial hug. Though Jon loved his father, his uncle Benjen was the only one to have ever hugged him in front of others, or to show him absolute warmth, no matter of their audience. Not even Catelyn Stark's scowling had ever stopped him, and Jon was grateful and adored him for it.

Benjen smiled down at his nephew and rubbed his head, and before any words left his lips, Jon's shoulders began to shake, and second later, hot tears began pouring forth. It took much prodding from Benjen to have Jon release the hold he had on him. Even more so to have him look up at him. Kneeling before his nephew and wiping his tears, Benjen pulled him into his own bone crushing hug.

_**The Wolf On The Wall** _

Putting Jon at arm’s length, their eyes locked, and he saw the pain reflected back at him, and at that moment Benjen could care less about the survival of the realm. Who were they to force such a burden on a child. He was the grown man, he was the sword in the darkness, the watcher on the Wall, the shield that guards the realms of men. What good are said vows if he was willing to sacrifice his nephew, a mere child to such a fate.

“Listen to me Jon.” Begin Benjen. “Forgive us old fools for being so foolish.” Benjen spies the Crow perch up high, he knew the Three Eyed Crow was there watching them, but he cared not if he agreed with his reasonings. He turns back to his nephew. “I am so sorry, nephew.” Benjen saw surprise in Jon's eyes, and before he could open his mouth, Benjen continued on. "You've no obligation to do this Jon. It is our job, the adults to protect the realms of man, not a child. So speak and speak true nephew, if you want to stay in Winterfell I'll make it so."

Silence reign between the occupants in the tent. And with baited breath held by two, the child gave his answer.

"I want to go Jon all but whispers. I want to protect my family, I want to do right for the realm, and if my going allows it a small chance of survival against the coming darkness. Then would it not be selfish of me to stay back knowing what's to come?”

Benjen gave his nephew a sad smile. He knew what Jon's choice was from the beginning, he just wanted to make sure. ‘Oh how he hated the honor the Starks were praised for.’ At the moment, he hated the Starks honor just a little more.

_**The Bastard Of Winterfell** _

“Very well then” Benjen said, “let us depart.”

As the two made their way to the back of the small tent, Jon cast his eyes on the still sleeping guard and worry nagged away at him. “Won't he be punished once I am gone?”

“Worry not about him Jon,” Benjen answers without even looking back. “No harm shall come to him. Ned will have a full diagnosis be done by Maester Luwin, and sleeping powder shall be found to have been the cause... Not only that, this sleeping powder's strength was double for this mission. He shall sleep for the next two days, les a jolt of great shock is administered. The powder is known to cause memory loss. Knowing Ned, he will want him to be at his best before he is questioned.” As Benjen continues to explain to Jon, he watches as his uncle begins to hastily throw objects on the ground, making it like a struggle took place. Even grabbing a few vials of blood that he carelessly tossed around, making random splatters to further make the lie absolute. Even going so far as to sprinkle some on the guards spear.

Stepping back, and being satisfied with the deceit, Benjen leads Jon outside the back of the tent. It would seem his uncle Benjen purposely took this spot for his tent, since it was a clear shot outside of the village. Mounting the single black stead, Jon felt a rush of power flow threw him after Benjen spoke words unknown to his young ears. Next he knew, they were galloping at a fast break speed for the exit of the village. Even as they passed a villager, said villager didn't even raise an eyebrow by the stead that rushed past him. Only stopping to look around due to the rush of wind.

‘This glamour is truly something. Jon observed. This new form of glamour not only changes one's appearances, it also masks our presence completely.’ Jon wonders how long this high level of magic would last.

Looking back, all that was left of them were the tent and the tracks left by the stead. It seems no matter how powerful the glamour, erasing tracks are beyond its powers. "How can this be rectified? Jon made his thoughts known to his uncle.

“Worry not” was Benjen’s answer.

They rode on at a fast break speed till Winter Town, and Winterfell was but a speck behind them, still they rode on, not once slowing down... Even carrying two, the stead never once falters.

‘What a magnificent beast, to not tire after running for so long.’

After the thoughts entered Jon’s mind, he began to feel the beast slowing down to a slow pace, eventually stopping all together at a crossroad.

“Why have we stopped?” Jon asks. In the darkness, with only the moonlight to illuminate them, Jon could not see the emotions that played in his uncle's eyes. Jon, thinking his uncle would not answer him, grew vexed and crossed. Benjen knowing this chuckle to himself. Jon, no matter how smart a boy he was, no matter how grown up he was for his age, in the end, he was still a child, with a child's temperament to boot.

Finally Benjen grew serious and turned the stead around facing home, and there stood Winterfell in the darkness, —though they were too far to see the magnificent castle, they knew they faced the right direction— the seat of power for those that lived and ventured North. A place of honor for many, where all who reside within are treated with a fair amount of respect, if they are true. Winterfell as the two look on, and have stood for nearly a thousand years. A home for these two, where family resides. A home they chose to leave for the betterment of the realm, and to run away from memories respectively.

“That is home Jon.” Benjen whispers so low that if they were not close to each other while, the words would have been lost to the wind. "Know this nephew” he continues on, “the path you are choosing to walk shall be a hard one, one you may not survive. I say these words not to scare you, but to prepare you. But most of all, I say them, for in my heart I wish you to change your mind. For it is still not too late for me to return you back to Winterfell and forget this ordeal that I have no desires to have you attempt."

A long silence took hold after Benjen’s speech, only to be broken by Jon’s words.

“I thank you uncle for showing me Winterfell in this focal point of my journey. I thank you for your words of wisdom, and for allowing me to see what it is I truly am fighting for. From seeing Winterfell and the North from this perspective, my resolve has only strengthened themselves, not weakened them. Now I truly understand what the Three Eyed Crow showed me, I have no reason for letting the visions he showed me come to pass, so I shall go forward, I shall travel the darkest of the realm, I shall gained the powers offered, and I shall fight to the bitter end till a new dawn can begin anew… This I swear, by the Old Gods and New!"

As Jon finished speaking, unbeknownst to him, his voice had risen to a crescendo, and in the dead of night with only the moon to illuminate them, a shift could be sense by all, the trees sway from a windless wind as if acknowledging his oath, snow began to fall and the ground itself rumble.

“Very well then nephew” was all Benjen could say, for what else could he say after such a passionate speech from his nephew.

As they turn from Winterfell to the wall and beyond, three magnificent black steed controlled by the three Eyed Crow burst from the forest and scattered in three different directions to lay tracks and to continue the deceit lay bare for his young King.

The next time the young King returns home won't be for another four years, and once he returns, the realm shall never be the same.

The birth of a king has begun.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I've aged Aemon back for a few years. I did that because Aemon was one of my favorite characters in the show, that suffered a lot of loss, without ever really getting anything back.
> 
> I also felt that Martin made a bad decision, depending on where he takes the Crow’s storyline, by not making Brynden and Aemon allies. So in this story, Aemon and Brynden became the best of friends while they served, before Brynden headed beyond the wall to become the three eyed crow.
> 
> I've also added Catelyn, though it was short, I wanted to add her point of view for that specific scene. I wanted to the readers to get inside her, though her pov will not be constants in future chapters, she will get one in chapter 5, so we can see how Jon disappearance has affected her children, especially her husband.


	5. The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets an interesting man at the wall, while the Starks in Winterfell fall in disary, with one of their own taken from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end for notes.

**A Song Of Wolves And Dragons**   
**HouseOfEl**

* * *

**V**   
**The Wall**

* * *

_**The Wolf On The Wall** _

It seems the Old Gods favored them this day. For nothing interfered with their journey North, but a small shower of snow that did nothing to hindered them, but instead covered their tracks. With the undead stead beneath them, even carrying two, it never slowed. Even making the journey to the wall even faster than when the steed brought him to Winterfell.

Throughout the journey, Jon never once complained about the speed nor lacked rest. At midday, Benjen spots the wall and Castle Black from the distance, and part of him like always, feels a warmth pass through him.

‘Home.’

When those words first entered his mind and heart so long ago after a dangerous trek beyond the wall, he felt scared. In no shape or form did he ever believe a time would come that Castle Black would be considered home-or to be elevated to the same heights as Winterfell—But now, he welcomes the feeling. Maybe one day he would look upon Castle Black and not called it home, but today was not the day.

"Wow!" whispered Jon. “It is magnificent uncle...and so big.”

“Aye it is nephew.” Benjen couldn’t help but smile at his nephew’s enthusiasm seeing the wall for the first, even from far away, it is a sight that takes the breath of even the harden of men. He remembered feeling the same.

Benjen reared the stead to a slow pace while he began to explain a few things to Jon.

“Listen Jon” he begins, taking his nephew’s awe from the wall. “Once we enter Castle Black, we must be careful and weary. Though I believe no raven has yet been sent detailing of your disappearance, nor will any ever reach the wall thanks to the Crow’s vigilance. Nevertheless, it's best we continue to be weary. Here,” Benjen pulled another wolf medallion from his breast pocket, but unlike his, this one was held together by gleaming silver chains.

“Wow, I never thought silver could be this bright,” says Jon, while grasping the chains from Benjen, and lifting it up away from him to look at the menacing wolf with his razor sharp teeth, and gleaming red eyes.

Benjen was quick to bring Jon back to the present, before he lost himself wondering about the necklace.

“The magic in my medallion is gone, but yours still holds power. This medallion was made for the sole purpose to hide you, and you alone. Though I'll hide you from all, It will not hide your footprints or the sounds you make, so silence must be your ally till we leave the castle. Once we enter Castle Black, I'll set us in a way that we do not land in the snow, I'll hide you in my private quarters, and there you can rest for the journey ahead. You also must not leave the quarters no matter what Jon. Les life and death are in the balance.”

Jon stayed quiet after Benjen’s long winded explanation, and Benjen did not know what to make of it, until he looked down, and witnessed Jon playing with the medallion in his hands. He frowned, Benjen could not help himself. Though Jon made the decision to come with him, even after his speech, he was still just a boy, a boy that was sometimes easily distracted.

“Do you understand Jon?” stressed Benjen."Aye uncle." Jon answers after a beat of silence.

“How long will we be at Castle Black then?” Jon questioned.

“Not too long I hope. If all goes well, we will be on our way before the sun sets. The faster we leave, the less we worry of you being found.”

The undead stead once more began to gallop at an unbridled speed, the second Jon and Benjen fell into silence. Once more letting Benjen know the Crow was listening to everything they were saying. It did not take them long to reach castle black.

Entering Castle Black, Benjen could sense the excitement in his nephew's bones, from the way he whipped his head to and fro, from watching the Black Brothers training in the square, and the way he looked at the wall with wonderment. Even in this dire time, Benjen couldn't help but smile.

As Benjen made his way inside, he was greeted by his brothers, old and new, while some of the new recruits looked on in awe of the First Ranger at Castle Black, while the old one just acknowledged him with a nod and a greeting.

"It seems some of the new blood has been told of me. Don't know if I should be flattered or embarrassed?”

Benjen was surprised when Jon answered flattered, for he did not know he had spoken those words out loud. All he did was to smile and rub his nephews head in a sign of understanding.

As Benjen made his way to a wooden walkway, he was interrupted by none other than Donal Noye himself, the one arm smith of castle black. Even with one arm, the man was still formidable, dangerous to a fault in combat. Many times, Donal Noye showed his melee when he was able to leave the forge for a few hours and train with his brothers or the new recruits. The man was built like a bear, full of muscles, even with his big belly and missing arm, all the old Brothers knew he was not a man to trifle with, les they desire to meet Death sweet embrace so soon.

“Welcome back Wolf,” greeted Donal Noye with a genuine smile on his hardened face. One thing you learn on the wall, your black brothers are not friends, they are your comrades, depending on your rank, your subordinates. Each man that joins the watch has their own reasons, so when you are able to make a true friend, it is something to cherish. To Benjen Stark, Donal Noye was one of the few men he can consider a friend.

“Good to be back” answered Benjen with his own genuine smile. As Benjen descends from the black steed, the two brothers engulf each other in a heartfelt hug shared by two men that have shared not only a table to eat, but have walked the path of life and death together.

“I wish I held more good news for you brother,” says Donal after pulling back from the hug, but the old bear wants you to be informed the second you returned. A look passed between Benjen's eyes, and all laughter died. Now, Benjen Stark, the brother, uncle, and friend is gone, replaced with Benjen Stark the first ranger, one of the most dangerous brothers the wall has ever produced since its creation.

“Do you know what it's for?” Benjen asks in a hard tone.

“I do not” answers Donal, “but the commander says he'll let us know once you've arrived.”

“Very well then, give me a minute to go to my chambers, then I shall join you.”

The second Donal was gone. Benjen, as fast and discreetly as possible removed Jon from the steed, and brought him to his room. Though personal perks were rare here on the wall, being the first ranger not only allows one to move far more freely than the other brothers, but it also allows One to have their own personal room, and Benjen at this time was glad for said perks. For if he was not a first ranger, he would have to share a room with his black brothers, and it would have made it close to impossible to truly hide Jon.

“Jon, remember what we spoke off?” Benjen says in a tone with no warmth. “You are not to make any noise, nor leave this room.”

“Aye uncle, I remember. I'll not leave your quarter les life or death is on the line.” Jon answers with a grin, only to roll his eyes when Benjen turns his head to survey the room.

“Good, I do not know how long the meeting shall be, but I'll return as soon as possible.” Pointing to his left, Jon observed a small plate with a slice of bread and fried meat and a goblet. “It seems they anticipated my arrival. Eat, sleep, and conserve your journey.” Benjen finishes with a running of Jon’s hair, making his hair stand up in all directions.

With that, Benjen left and locked the door from the outside, and made his way to the Lord Commanders Towers. Arriving, Benjen was surprised all the high ranking brothers, and Maester Aemon were in attendance.

“I pray to the Gods you accomplished what you needed too, young wolf?” said Maester Aemon, in his ever soft voice, and smile on his aged and wrinkled face.

Once more, Benjen swore that the old man though blind knew far more than he let on. Especially the way he was looking at him, or through him, searching, probing for answers. It took a while, but Benjen finally answered the old Maester. His milky white eyes unnerve him, reminding him of the Crow when he enters one of his trances when warging.

“Good!” It was the Lord Commander who answered this time. “Now then, let's get down to business.”

Nearly two hours passed before the meeting came to an end. And the high echelon of the Night Watch were free to go and prepare for their next assignment.

‘Once more the Gods favor me it would seem.’ For Benjen would range beyond the wall come sundown and try to locate this King Beyond The Wall camp, and to evaluate the rumors of said King bringing the Wildlings under one banner to be true. Benjen shuttered, if a man was able to accomplish such a task as bringing the Wildlings under one banner. No brothers, no matter how fierce, or wall would hold back such a siege, for the Wildlings reach in the hundred thousands, and the brothers on the wall combined barely reaches two thousands, brothers and recruits combined.

As Benjen headed for the door, and contemplated both of his missions, he was stopped by the voice of Maester Aemon calling to him.

Turning around, he lays his eyes on the old Maester, and a shutter goes through him, and he once more swore the old man knew more than he let on. Especially with that small smile on his face. A smile that Benjen has come to understand after spending such an amount of time around the old Maester, as his secret smile. A smile that the old blind Maester hid so well, it took a man that knew him, or how to hide secrets themselves to know it was a smile to begin with. And Benjen Stark was a man with many secrets and smiles.

“Help an old man, young one,” said Maester Aemon dismissing his steward when he went to help.

“Of course” Benjen returns, taking the Maester’s arm. Benjen begins to lead him to his quarters, a journey that would have taken Benjen no more than five minutes, took twenty. And all that time, as Benjen openly eye the Maester for secrets, the old man stayed quiet.

Arriving in his chambers, Benjen helps the old Maester to his seat. He watches as the old Maester takes his time to get comfortable, once done, the old Maester pierce him with his sightless eyes for how long Benjen did not know. Benjen thought he couldn’t take the silence any more —which made no sense since he sometimes goes days without speaking when he trek beyond the wall alone, or with his brothers— the old Maester spoke, and shook him with a mere sentence.

“My name is Aemon Targaryen, and I know of your mission young wolf!”

_**The Bastard On The Wall** _

After his uncle left him in his room, and locked the door, which made no sense to Jon, since food was somehow brought to said very locked room, Jon made his way to the plate and attacked the plate of food with vigor. It wasn't until he began to eat that he realized how truly hungry he was. On a whim he even went so far as to taste the alcohol left in the goblet.

“Huh!” Jon made a disgusting sound. “How can adults drink this?” Jon muttered. Once he had his full, and left half the plate for his uncle, Jon wandered the meager room. It was just a tiny bit bigger than his room back at Winterfell.

‘Just as gray too it would seem.’

Excluding the small bed, the only two things that stood out were the small collection of books that reached no more than ten and the three swords. Crossing over to the small table that held the books, Jon observed the spine of each, and all seemed to be withered.

‘Seems uncle Benjen is a lover of reading.’

Jon perused them, most it seems held stories of legends, war tactics, one was even of ‘The Conquest Of The Seven kingdoms.’ Looking at the small book, Jon felt its weight in his hands, then put it back where it belonged. As much fun it would be to lose myself in the stories in reading about the founding of the Seven Kingdoms, he knew knowledge of the now was more important to him. So picking the next book that truly piqued his interest, a book on remedies, poisons and edibles, Jon slid against the wall and began to read.

Opening the book, Jon was surprised by the contents in his pages. For it seems this book wasn’t made by scholars, nor Maesters, but from the brothers at Castle Black itself.  
The book went in detail the many flowers, twigs, and assortments found beyond the wall. The book was broken into many different sections. From poisons and remedies, from the edible one to eat when low on food beyond the wall.

Jon lost himself in the book, and by the time he was even a tenth in, he had to stop for his eyes were becoming too blurry, and his neck hurt too much from bending over. It seems, though the book was small, and easily understood, memorizing each plant he read about was something else. With a frustrated grunt, Jon tosses the book aside.

‘I should ask uncle Benjen to allow me to borrow this book.’ The boy made a mental note while rubbing his head from the headache from memorizing so much information and bending his neck for so long.

With another grunt, Jon raises himself up, stretching his sore muscles, he eyes the few swords on his uncle's wall. A grin falls on his lips, for he could remember the few times he’s ever actually held a real sword. For whenever Robb and he ever asked Ser Rodrik, the old man would give them this look, then a lecture, then punished them for wanting live steel so early in life.

Moving to the wall, Jon grabbed one of the swords, a one handed longsword.

“Huh,” he grunt, “didn’t think it would be this heavy to wield.”

With far more force than Jon thought was needed, he raised the sword mid height, and began going through the many stances Ser Rodrik, and the Crow thought him.

Live steel was far different than the boy thought it would be. Though he’d held live steel before, in the form of daggers and short sword, he never had the time to practice before Ser Rodrik or a Winterfell guard stopped him and Robb. So not even three stances in, he was already winded, and his stances far sloppier than ever before. Worse yet, the transitions from stance to stance were horrendous that the worst swordsman would have run him through if a real fight ensued. Five stances in, his breathing became far too erratic. Eight stances in his arm were burning from exertions. Ten stances in, Jon was drenching his clothes in sweat, and with a huff, the boy dropped the sword and fell to his knees.

“Dammit!” he swore. “I guess I’m not ready for live steel yet.”

Lying sprawled on his back, and unable to fight the exhaustion, Jon allowed himself to relax, and before he knew it, he’s mind took him to Winterfell, and tears pool in the corners of his eyes.

“Dammit!” he swore once more while wiping the tears away, but for as soon they were wiped away, new ones appeared. Jon knowing it useless and with limbs burning and exhaustion taking its toll on his young body, fell to the land of slumber.

_**The knowing Maester** _

Aemon could hear the intake of breath that Benjen took when he announced his name.

“Can’t be Benjen hissed!”

A laugh escapes the maester’s lips. “And why is that young one?”

“Because all the Targaryens are dead, minus the two across the sea.” His whisper sounded more like a hiss than anything else.

Aemon could feel the agitation in Benjen’s body by the way he listened to his clothes rustling, if Aemon was a betting man, he would bet Benjen was looking around for signs of danger.

“What danger can an old blind man, twice your age, possess to you Benjen Stark.” After the words left Aemon’s mouth, he could not help but laugh at his mistake. After all, the most dangerous man in the realm at this moment was none other but another old man by the name of Brynden Rivers.

Aemon could feel Benjen Stark eyes on him, piercing, and looking for answers. Aemon also knew he needed the young man before him to relax so they could discuss certain things.

‘I see that Brynden did not share much with you.’ Aemon shook his head at that. ‘You have not changed it would seem Brynden.’

Coming back to himself, Aemon looks towards the general direction of Benjen before he begins speaking.

“There’s no need to worry young one, we are alone in this room. Our only companions are the books and my personal crow.” A screech was heard in the alcove, and looking up, Benjen spot said bird.

Silence follows.

‘He’s studying me, wanting to know how much I truly know.’ Aemon thought.

“Why tell me this?” Begins Benjen. “For years you’ve kept this secret, and now, for no apparent reasons, which I can’t fathom, you choose to tell me? Why!?”

“Why not?” Aemon answered back, his tone unlike Benjen was carefree, lacking Benjen’s guarded tone.

“What do you mean why?” Benjen hisses again. “We’re not friends, we are brothers by the vows taken in protection of the realm, that’s where it begins and ends. No more no less.”

While Benjen's mind was in a whirlwind. Aemon's slightest eyes continue to watch him.

Aemon let out a sigh. “You know why young one, our enemies are preparing to end us, and we must come together.”

“The Wildlings, though strong, can never breach the wall, even with this so-called King Beyond The Wall.” Benjen answered back.

Aemon chuckled at Benjen’s answer. ‘So you wish to continue playing this game of untruth I see. The next move is yours Benjen Stark, what shall be your next move on this little game of ours?’ Aemon knew it was wrong to play this game with the young man, but it’s been far too long since he was given a chance to enjoy himself. ‘Maybe just a little longer.’ He smiled to himself.

As Aemon continues sitting with a calm look upon his face, and the whites of his eyes piercing Benjen, said man's mind worked overtime, looking for answers.

“I ask again, Benjen hisses” and Aemon could hear the leathers from his gloves strained as he flexed and squeezed his hand in an attempt to stay calm. “Why tell me this?!”

“Maybe I share this with you young one, because I see us as friends,” Aemon said with slight amusement, while shrugging his shoulders as if any of this were normal.

“Enough with your jest! Answer me truthfully Aemon Targaryen! For I grow tired of your games.”

Aemon closed his eyes, then took a deep breath through his old lungs. He holds it until he begins to feel the burn, before he releases it, the breath coming out as a hiss. He pierces Benjen once more on the spot with his slightless eyes.

“You and I know the true enemy of man, and it is not the Wildlings, but the ethereal ones. The Others to the Wildlings, the White Walkers to us. You and I are the few on this side of the wall that knows the truth, and we have work ahead of us, Benjen Stark, if we’re to fight the coming Long Night.”

“How?” Benjen whispered. “How could you have known all this.” Rooted on the spot, Benjen Stark could do nothing but ask the question.

Aemon let out a small chuckle. “Sit down Benjen Stark” he waved to the chair next to him. “I believe we have much to talk about before you leave for your journey beyond the wall.”

Like a man possesses, Benjen drops in the seat offered. As he opens his mouth to further inquire more, Aemon raises his hand and silences him.

“The reason I speak this secret with you young one is simple, the Watch must be made ready to weather this coming storm, and with the shape the Watch is now in… Even with our current Lord commander, though as good as he is, I fear we shall lose the battle much earlier. A battle that is growing from within the Watch itself. For most of the Brothers that have taken the vow are naught but the worse of man, with just a few decent lads. And when the true war comes with our true enemies, the Watch shall be too useless to be but naught a speck in the Others path.” Finished Aemon with a tired and resolute voice.

“How do you know all this?” Ask Benjen, still in a state of shock.

“Is it not obvious young one? The being known as the Three Eyed Crow that approached you, have also approached me in my dreams, and shared much with me. Believing with the Maester of the watch at his side would make it easier for you to move about, and easier to convince the Lord Commander.”

Benjen stayed silent, not knowing what else to say. When he finally spoke, Aemon could hear the trembling in his voice.

“What else has he shown you, Maester?” Benjen conjured with so much trepidation in his voice, that it took all of Aemon’s strength not to chuckle at the ranger if the moment weren’t so tense.

Aemon smacks his mouth and wet his wrinkle lips thinking on what to share with the ranger, but in the end, he chooses to be honest with him.

“I have seen all young one.” Aemon answered in a somber tone. “The Crow has even shared your mission with me.”

“All!?” Benjen's voice came out in a squeak without his consent.

“Aye,” Aemon answered, with a dry chuckle mixed in with painful memories. “The Crow shared all with me, believing I deserve at least the full truth… going as far as to show me the tragedy of my family on that fateful day.”

Aemon heard the intake of breath leaving Benjen lips. Most likely not meaning too.

“They were mere children,” Aemon finishes in a somber tone.

Benjen after hearing those facts from the maester chose to stay quiet, not knowing what to say.

“Do you wish to meet him?” Benjen voiced his thought after a period of silence. No further explanation was needed, for both men knew whom he met.

“No,” Aemon was quick to answer. “As much as I desire the chance to meet and be close to another of my blood, I do not believe an introduction is the right course, for if I were to meet him, I might not let him go, and I fear I might let slip secrets. Worse yet, I do not believe my old heart could take it. So no, we’ll not meet. We shall postpone the meeting for his return once he’s ready-Or I am.”

“You mention the Lord Commander?” Benjen asks instead, bringing the conversation in a more safe direction.

“Aye I did. The old bear is stubborn, but not unreasonable. If proof beyond measure is shown to him, then he’ll have no reason to deny the threat that lay beyond the wall. Then I believe he’ll begin to strengthen the Watch for the war to come.”

Aemon stops to catch his breath.

“That is where you come in Benjen Stark. I shall do all I can on my side, I shall drop small hints to the Commander about the dead, but it shall be up to you to bring me some form of proof to give the Commander to truly sway him to our cause. It does not have to be a Walker, for I know that is far too dangerous, nor a full undead, but a body part, an arm, or leg. Better yet a head, once that proof is shown to the Lord Commander then we can truly begin implementing our strategies.”

“That is sound planning,” answered Benjen. “But even capturing an undead would be problematic. When they ambushed us, it was three on three. Yet I almost die, and two of my brothers are nothing but ashes drifting in the wind now.”

“We need proof Benjen Stark.” Aemon carries on.

“I do not disagree,” Benjen interrupted Maester Aemon, “but we must not rush into this blindly and make it worse. We must have a solid plan, for if I die while capturing an undead soldier, then it would all be for nothing. Now more than ever, I have certain priorities.” Benjen did not finish his sentence, for both knew whom he spoke off.

“Too true.” Maester Aemon whispers.

So for another hour, Benjen and Maester Aemon plan. Though the plan was not fully fleshed out, it was the best they could up with, and maybe once the Crow is made aware, maybe he could perfect the trap.

“Though I can’t meet him now, it would please me if you could tell me a little about my nephew” said Aemon with a smile, thinking about the child that was so close to him, yet unable to do anything about it.

Another hour would pass before Benjen would make his way to Jon. In that hour, Maester Aemon laughed and cried. From joy and happiness, and pain and sorrow, from loss and gain.

_**The Wolf On The Wall** _

As Benjen made his way to Jon, his mind was still trying to piece together regarding the Maester’s of the Watch's true identity. ‘Who would have thought a Targaryen would continue to serve the realm after the tragedies that befell his family... I wonder if I would have held my steel if our roles were reversed and I had known the truth?’

Continuing walking to his room, Benjen shook his head from those dark thoughts. At this very moment, he needed his head to stay in the present, for the next trek of their journey would be the hardest and harshest one yet.

Entering his room, Benjen spotted his nephew sprawled out on his back, sword in hand, slumbering like the dead. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t use words like the dead Benjen contemplated. Not after witnessing what truly awaits us.’ Continue watching his nephew, his heart break once more, for in mere hours his nephew's true journey shall begin. ‘Forgive me Ned, Lyanna, for forcing this path unto his young shoulders. But I fear if Jon does not rise to this trial set upon him, then we are all doomed.’

Kneeling in front of Jon, Benjen carefully removed the sword still held in his small hands, only to release a chuckle when Jon refused to part with the blade.

After the blade was safely removed from the sleeping boy's hand, Benjen shook his nephew awake.

“Jon, wake up!” It took far more shaking before the boy truly came through.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Jon yawns while questioning his uncle for rudely awakening him. With “What?” Being the first words he muttered while wiping the sleep from his eyes.

Jon continues to grumble. Benjen couldn’t help but chuckle again. Growing serious, Benjen shared his thoughts with his nephew.

“There’s a man I wish for you to meet.” With that sentence, Benjen watches as the boy comes awake, sleepiness erased from him. Benjen couldn’t help but to frown.

‘Were you always this grown up Jon? That a mere sentence can so quickly wake you? Or has the Crow shaped you into what he desires without you knowing? And if he has, what type a man am I to bring you to him?’ Benjen contemplates. Questions he at this moment had no answers for.

Benjen was shaken awake from his dark thoughts by said child with a queer look upon his young face, a pouts in place while demanding to know whom his uncle wanted him to meet, that he would awaken him from his slumber. Benjen could only grin at his nephew’s wordings.

“Ah yes, the man I wish you to meet is the Maester of the Watch.”

“What type of man is he?” Jon asks, his eyes alight with curiosity.

“A good and honest man.” Benjen quickly answered. Benjen was surprised when he meant every word.

“He is an old and blind man's nephew, but if you listen to him, he shall fill your young mind with knowledge.”

“But uncle, Jon was quick to question him. “No one is to know I am here.”

With his hands still on Jon's shoulders, Benjen gives him a reassuring squeeze. “Worry not nephew, the Maester has also been visited by the Three Eyed Crow, and he knows of the true enemy of man.”

It was not a struggle to sneak Jon to Maester Aemon’s room, mostly thanks to the necklace that still hid his presence, and the small snowstorm that began and forced the brothers indoors, minus the few that man the wall. Taking a breath, Benjen looked down at his nephew, he could see the tension on his young shoulders, even covered in heavy fur to protect him from the cold, giving his shoulder a squeeze for assurance, and a smile when his nephew looked upon him, Benjen knocked.

Entering, Benjen spots Maester Aemon sitting at his desk petting and feeding his crow.

“It must be truly urgent for a brother to come see me with the snowstorm raging outside,” says Maester Aemon with his back still to the door.

“The snowstorm is not so bad that a brother couldn’t navigate it if they so choose. After all, this is nothing but a flurry of snow the Old Gods are blessing us with.” Responded Benjen with a small smile tugging his lips.

Maester Aemon turns and smiles in Benjen’s direction. “We spoke not too long ago, young one. Is something wrong?” Aemon questioned with a frown on his wrinkled face.

“None is wrong” Benjen was quick to assure him. “But where are you steward?” Question Benjen, all the while his eyes were scanning the room for any form of unwanted attention.

“Ah,” Aemon chuckled. “I released him for the day, and I wanted some time to put my mind in order to contemplate things.”

“What if you need help?” Ask Benjen, a frown on his face. Though he had truly just met the man, he was technically family, and the last thing he wanted was for harm to befall him, and no one nearby to help.

“Believe it or not young one, though old and blind, I am not so senile or inept that I cannot watch after myself” Aemon said in a jest. “I’ve lived sixty years in this room, and I’ve memorized every aspect, so fear not for me.”

“Now, tell me again Benjen Stark, why return to me so quickly when there are preparations to be made?”

“The preparations are being made” Benjen answered, :but...I thought it was best to accomplish this as well”

“Accomplished what Benjen Stark?”

Benjen carried on as if he were not interrupted. Walking forward to where the maester sat with his crow. Begin introduced the two. “Maester Aemon, I would like you to meet my nephew...Jon Snow.”

_**The Bastard On The Wall** _

After entering the room, Jon watches silently as his uncle and the Maester interact with one another. Though he could not tell if they were friends or not, it seems they respected each other enough to be able to jest with another. ‘Maybe knowing of the dead plays a factor.’

He was surprised at how old the Maester truly was. The old man's face was full of wrinkles, hair white and though not full, still an abundance on his head. His eyes were the most disturbing, for when he looked at them, even this far, Jon could see nothing but whites. ‘Never thought I would see someone this old save for old Nam, He looks even older than the Crow’s human form.’

When his uncle introduced him to the old Maester, he could hear the intake of breath leaving the old man. Jon grew scared thinking the old man might just keeled over and died for it seems for a second he was lacking air.

“What!?” His whispered voice was both strong and quavering in the small room, and with a push from his uncle, Jon stepped forward and removed the glamor. Though it was useless, Jon realized the old Maester was blind.

Jon searched the face of both men when both refused to talk. He was surprised with what he found on both of their faces. On The old Maester’s face, he saw pain, sorrow, sadness and clarity. While his uncle's face held nothing but a look of melancholy.

‘Strange, and why?’ Before he could further analyze the problem, his uncle’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“I’ll leave you two alone to speak, I still need to pack for our journey north. I shall return in an hour to pick you up nephew.” Benjen spoke to no one in particular. Part of Jon felt that his uncle said those words just to say them. Not giving either one a chance to respond, Benjen turns and heads to the door. Only stopping to instruct Jon on locking the door, and not opening the door unless it’s him making himself known, and to continue holding on the amulet just in case.

“I'm not inept that I would lose something so important uncle!” Jon frowned at Benjen. Benjen’s only answer was to smile, and ran his hand on his head, disturbing his already unruly curls, and making Jon only more annoyed. Like many of those in Winterfell, the best way to get on Jon’s bad side was to mess with said curls. Not even Theon was ever foolish to try such a thing.

After locking the door, Jon turns and uses the door as a brace, leans against it, all the while watching the Maester, and surveying the room.

“Come forward and take a seat young one” says Maester Aemon with a wave of his hand and pointing to the chair next to him. Jon caught the slight tremble in the Maester’s voice, though he did his best to hide it. Jon eyes squints at the display.

‘Why does your voice tremble so Maester? You do not even know me?’

Those were the thoughts that ran through Jon’s as he made his way to the chair pointed by the maester.

Though just a boy shy of ten, the child’s mind was one far too sharp for his own self. Jon learned far too early in life, for him to survive Winterfell, the Lords and Ladies, and most of all the North itself, he had to gain more than just brawn, he needed the mind to be sharp. It was watching Maester Luwin and Old Nan at a young age that helped guide him. Though the two were frail, their knowledge was beyond any man or women he spoke too. Best yet, it was the way they acted that further helped his guise along. Never did Jon look upon those two to see them belittling others for their lack of knowledge, never did he witness those two lauding their knowledge. No, what he witnessed from the two were humility. Never acting better than others, and only sharing said knowledge with the means of helping those who lacked them. It was at that point Jon, a young boy understood, no matter how great a warrior you were, without the strength of the mind, you were nothing but a blunted weapon. And as the “Bastard Of Winterfell,” he needed knowledge to balance the physical part of the body. And with the help of the Crow, he became even more cunning in dissecting truth from others. Though not perfect, for he was still young, he could still catch truth from certain adults when their guards were down.

Taking a seat from across the maester, though close enough to be within touching range, Jon watches the old man.

“Could you not dissect me like that young one?” Came the raspy voice of the old man. So lost was Jon in learning what the old man was up to, he almost jumped in his seat from the maester’s soft voice.

“How would you know you’re being dissected if you’re blind?” Jon questions with a frown on his face. A light chuckle left the old maester’s mouth.

“I am pretty old, young one, and blind for the past fifteen years.” —Aemon left out a chuckle that had Jon frowning at said sudden turn of moods— “I have lived, eat and slept amongst some of the most noblest men, and some of the worst cutthroats the realm has ever produced. Though blind, I can tell when eyes are on me and me alone.”

Silence reigns between the child and the maester. While Jon studies maester Aemon with keen eyes, said maester pets his crow now perch on his walking cane, looking as if it ruled the two beneath him. It was said bird that broke the silence and put the two at ease with a small caw from being attended to.

“Did you know I received this bird from our mutual friend the Three Eyed Crow as a gift?”

Jon's eyes light up hearing that. “Really!?” The boy exclaimed.

“Aye,” Aemon answers with a small smile, and with just as enthused as the boy seated before him.

“He came to me nearly ten years ago, and he showed me the future that was to take place in the realm of men, the danger we all face... even showed me you, and the part you are yet ready to play… I am truly sorry young one, for the sacrifices you’ve made, and those yet to come.” Maester Aemon finished with a frown on his face, and voice filled with sorrow.

Reaching over, Aemon squeezes Jon’s hand, showing his support, though not with many words, but with his true feelings. Jon was taken aback by such an act. True, he chose this path, never did he think a man he just met would feel this way. His uncle Benjen had shared his feelings with him on the road to the wall, but that was expected of him, after all, they were family, and he knew his uncle only wanted the best for him. That was one more reason his uncle was one of his favorite adults. Though he loves his father, Jon knew no matter what, between the two, the love he held for his uncle was far stronger, as much as he hated to admit it. For it was his uncle he turned to when he had to vent his frustrations about not only being a Bastard with no future at Winterfell, but about life in general. And as always, his uncle stayed quiet, listened, once done, envelop him in a bone crushing hug, tell him he loves him, and he’ll always be there for him and accept his decisions.

“You don’t even know me? Why feel sorry?”

“A child should not have to make such a sacrifice” Aemon came back strong. “If I were younger… I would have gladly changed places with you.”

“Thank you,” Jon finished with a genuine smile. “But worry not about me maester, this decision was mine and mine alone.” Jon saw the small frown marred the maester’s face from his answer.

“You are a weird blind man” Jon begins with a new line of thoughts. Maester Aemon couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh? And why is that young one?” Aemon continues to smile.

“Though I have never interacted with the blind, I’ve heard and read books on how they interact with others.”

“Tell me young one, how does the blind interact with others?” The laughter could still be heard from the maester’s voice.

Jon’s brown furrowed down in contemplation. “I read that the blind usually touches the faces of those they meet for the first time, trying to gain a feel of the faces they speak too.”

“Don’t you think that’s queer child?” Ask Aemon.

“What do you mean Jon fired back?” His temper continues to rise as the Maester continues to smile at him as if he was an idiot. One thing few knew about Jon Snow, for he hides it well, was his fiery temper. Though a somber and contemplative child, his temper when provoked to the breaking point was unmatched. With only his uncle truly aware of the true depth of said temper, with his father barely knowing and seeing just the top layer he accidentally allowed him to see when he was just a boy of eight. Another reason his love for his uncle surpassed his father’s. It seems since his reached the wall, there’s been this itching in the back of his mind that has slowly but surely loosening his hold on his emotions, and as the old maester continues to jest him, said itchiness continues to loosen, and Before he could finally let loose, maester Aemon voice brought him back.

“Don’t you think it would be queer of me to ask to touch your face when we just met?” Not giving Jon a chance to respond, Aemon continues. “Worse yet, would it not scare you to be alone with said person?”

“I guess” Jon answers after a beat of silence. Frown still in place from the maester’s answer.

“Are you truly blind though?” Jon ponders again.

“Why ask such a question, child? You see my eyes” —Aemon made a point of pointing to his eyes with his bony fingers— “they are as white as snow, no pupils to see.” Aemon once more widened his eyes in a comical way that had Jon bursting from laughter.

I see Jon chuckle after a beat of silence. “You are indeed blind, but you can still see, can’t you maester?”

It was maester Aemon’s turn to chuckle at the boy, “I don't believe you know what it means to be blind.” Aemon said in jest.

“Oh I do” begins Jon. “You see, maester, one of my biggest loves, is the love of folktales, and I’ve read many folktales in Winterfell, and ever since I’ve met the Crow, he has been teaching me, and showing me many things. Watching you and your crow provided me with the answer. It is easy to see if one knows what to look for.”

“So then tell me, What was your discovery?” Aemon asks with a smile on his face. So giddy was the old man, his smile took over his whole. If asked, the old man could not tell you the last time he smiled so much.

“Warg,” said Jon, surprising and stopping Aemon short.

“How did you figure it out?” Aemon questioned in awe.

“Ever since I was introduced by uncle Benjen, that crow has been following me around with his eyes. It catches and follows my every movement, no matter how small.” Jon smiled then at the look on maester Aemon’s face. “Earlier, I purposely moved around, anyone who saw me would think me uncomfortable, but I was testing my theory.”

“But how?” Aemon asks in a shock voice.

Jon shrugs his shoulders. “There were two key points” Begin Jon by counting on his fingers. “The first, though subtle, when you take over your crow, your body goes rigid, and your crow bobs his head thrice. Not only that, your crow normally docile comes alive, if you pay attention, you can see it the way the crow becomes animated.”

Aemon could only blink his eyes in utter surprise. Never did he believe a child would ever rendered him speechless. Him, a man well read, a maester.

“What’s the second reason?” Aemon asks, still in shock, both afraid and giddy to know the truth.

Jon smiles, “I don’t know how to explain it, but when I’m around magic, I get this buzz in the back in my head. When I entered, the buzz was subtle, like a pin prick, but the more you warged to your crow, it grew so strong that I could feel when you left your body for the crow, and vice versa.”

It was Aemon that ended the silence with his next words. “—The Crow told me you were perceptive, but never did I believe this level. Truly child, you are a prodigy as the crow claimed.—” Jon could only smile in embarrassment at such praises.

“Yes, you are right, for indeed I am both blind and a warg. It took me nearly eight years to learn how to warg, even then, I am still a novice that can warg for only a short amount of time before I grow tired, and must release the connection, lest I lose myself.”

“How did you become a warg?” Jon question. “For according to Crow, if not taught at a young age, you risk the chance of losing the ability.”

“The Wall young one” Aemon whispered. So low was his voice, that Jon swore if he was not seated so close, he would have missed it.

“I don’t understand?” Jon questioned.

“Think clearly child.” Aemon asks in his wizened voice. “Do you truly believe this phenomenon of a Wall was built by mere man?... It’s true men played a part, but man’s part was minuscule to say the least.

Shock became apparent on Jon’s face hearing those words. ‘He’s right... there is no way mere men could have built something this big. Even if they just raised it from foundation up. Even if all the realm, from men to women, to children worked tirelessly, they should not have been able to raise even one tenth of the wall in Brandon the Builder's lifetime.’

“Wait! Exclaimed Jon. So excited he became, he nearly fell out of his seat leaning so far forward. “I know the story told to us in Winterfell, magic was used. According to legend, it was a combination of man and magic that gave birth to such a phenomenon.”

“Yes it was.” Answered maester Aemon, “but who provided the magic? Better yet, where are the ones that provided said magic?” The old maester once more questions the boy, furthermore forcing his young mind to expand, forcing him to question the everyday and mundane knowledge given to him by others.

Silence was the answer the young child gave Maester Aemon.

Grasping Jon’s hand and squeezing, Aemon forces Jon to look up at him. Though the old man could not see, Jon could feel his piercing stare. It was both scaring and loving. “Even I do not know the full story, but I believe the Crow knows far more. From what I’ve gathered speaking to you young one, you are far smarter than anyone your age, use that as your weapon. Once you meet the Three Eyed Crow, he shall forge and push your body far beyond its limits, but do not neglect your mind, for it is just as deadly as the body, if not more., for the mind is a terrible thing to waste. Be a man forged from both Ice and Fire!” Finished Aemon.

Those last words resonated with the young boy. Why? He knew not. Child and the elder spoke at length to another in the hour given to them by Benjen. Aemon fills his mind with both stories and tactics alike.

“Tell me something young one,” began Aemon after their lengthy conversation. Are you scared of the coming trial that lies before you?

As Jon was about to answer, a knock was heard, and followed by Benjen announcing himself disrupted the flow of conversations. Leaving his seat and opening the door, Jon was met with his uncle's somber face. “It’s time to go, Jon” he whispered. Though it was said softly, the words reverberated in the room.

Returning to Aemon’s side, Jon went to shake his hand, only to be engulfed in the old man’s frail body. Though old, Jon was surprised that his frail body possessed such strength. As a farewell gift to continue to mold his young mind, Aemon bestowed upon him four books. All four books held neither titles nor names credited to said works. Jon’s surprise was apparent. Jon’s question died in his throat as Maester Aemon answered his unsaid question.

“These four books were written by me before I became blind. All four are a collection of my own experiences, and others ranging from the Seven Kingdoms, to Beyond The Wall, to Dorne, and even the Far East. Read these books, understand them, and make them your own young one. Who knows” Aemon smiles, “it might even serve you in the wars to come.”

As Jon and Benjen made their way to the door, Jon missed the exchange between Benjen and Aemon, or the silent thank you, followed by silent tears running down the old man’s face as they exited his room.

It won’t be years till Jon and Maester Aemon sit together and his solar and speak once more. Till then, Aemon swore he would unite the Brother’s, make them stronger, and ready them for the true war to come. He swore to the Old Gods and New, that death won’t claim him, not until he sees that young boy and young girls, all three sitting upon the throne as King and Queens of the realm.

“The three head of the Dragon.”

The old Maester smiles then.

_**The Young Wolf** _

Robb couldn’t believe it at first when Jon disappeared from Winter town. After finding Theon and making sure he was fine, he went back to search for Jon. Not finding him, Robb believed Jon had simply left to see the other sights. But just when he went to turn, a breeze strong enough ever slightly shifted the tent entrance, and Robb felt his heart sink. For inside the tent, with the light of the moon reflecting and shining brightly, was the lone Winterfell soldier left to watch and guard Jon on the ground. At first he believed him dead, it was not until the next day he learned from his father he live still.

Rushing to the guard on the ground, with his own guard, their weapons at the ready, they saw nothing amiss, but the last vestige of stinging smoke. Robb's heart dropped, and before anything could be done, Robb remembered turning and began to run in search of his Lord father, leaving his guards scrambling after him, long after he disappeared.

“Robb what is wrong?” His mother exclaimed. “You are the future Lord of Winterfell, you mustn’t act so unbecoming, and running ragged amongst the people is not proper.”

While his mother fussed with his disheveled self, and out of breath from running so fast to find his father, Robb was unable to explain anything. All he was able to accomplish was to bend over hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. And he fears the longer he took the worse Jon was. Robb was saved when one of his guards came rushing forward, and exclaiming what transpired. ‘Thank the Old Gods.’ Robb remembered saying in his head.

After the guard had explained what happened, all Robb remembered was just a pure whirlwind of events. They were rushed back to Winterfell with no less than ten guards. Robb remembered watching his father’s face turn pale as the snow on the ground, then being replaced with the Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North in less than a heartbeat.

As they made their way to Winterfell, Robb did his best to console Arya, for she was even closer to their brother, even closer than himself if he was honest. Even Sansa looked sad. Bran, thanks the Gods, was too young to know what was transpiring.

That night, none of the Stark’s slept, and when they did fall to slumber, it was from fatigue, then wanting sleep. Not even their mother's stern voice could force them to leave the others presence. It was Robb himself that held Arya when she cried herself ragged.

As the days passed, Robb held strong and brave for the sake of his siblings, and as the heir to his father, he wanted to prove he was strong, especially once his father called forth some of his most loyal banners. It would have been unbecoming of the heir to show such weaknesses in front of his future vassals. But at night, and in his bed with no one to be strong for, he allowed his tears to fall. And not a night that passes by he didn’t cry for his lost brother.

Today made it a full moon cycle since Jon’s disappearance, and since then, he’s never been the same. Looking down his open window, Robb watches the courtyard below, remembering when Jon and him played. There were little places left in Winterfell that didn’t remind him of his brother. Winterfell has become nothing but a haunted castle since then. Now he along with his siblings were summoned to their father’s solar, and as much Robb hated to think about it, he knew why. His brother was dead, or worse.

Closing his eyes, Robb clenched his fist as tightly as he could, when the memories became too much too fast. It was his way of anchoring himself to the present lest the past swallows him.

With eyes still close, Robb sent a silent prayer to the Old Gods and Jon. A prayer he wishes with all his heart to reach his brother if he lives still, telling him he is loved and not forgotten.

“You’ve been gone for a full moon now brother. Arya has done nothing but cry, Bran does not know the meaning of your disappearance, but he asks for you, Sansa is saddened. And I… I miss you so much. I wonder if you are dead, or worse? Gods do I miss you my brother.”

Opening his eyes, Robb made its way to his father’s solar for the news. Either good or bad, Robb promised himself, for as long as breath still draws in his lungs, he shall never lose one of his siblings ever again.

Arriving in his father’s solar, all eyes turned to him once he opened the door. His father sat behind his desk with Arya on his lap ‘—were you crying again little sister—’ his eyes landed on their mother on the sofa. Though Robb knew there was no love between their mother and Jon, he thanked the Gods she never said anything negative about his brothers kidnapping. For that Robb was grateful. Though he love his mother, Robb didn’t believe he could have forgiven her if she had belittled Jon.

Robb’s eyes shift to Bran on their mother's lap fast asleep. ‘Her favorite son’ he thought without malice. He was glad Bran was still too young to truly understand the truth, and if the gods be good, as much it loathes him to think it, Bran will one day not even remember Jon. For as he grew, the memories would fade with time, saving him from the pain and heartache.

Robb's eyes fell on Sansa, and once more he was surprised by the genuine pain that she carried for their brother. Her endless tears, only matching his sadness and rage.

Returning his eyes to his father and Arya, the other two Starks more devastated than himself, Robb took a deep breath and crossed the threshold and closed the door.

_**The Honorable Wolf** _

Ned Stark watches as the snow falls in a small flurry outside the windows of his solar. Not even caring about the few people that sat and waited for his orders. Without even turning around, his somber voice demanded answers. Yet none came. All was quiet. Turning in anger, Ned slammed his first into his desk.

“I demand you answer me damn it?!”

Ned looks to his vassals, all with their heads low in shame for failing him so. Few had ever seen the lord of Winterfell truly mad, the only time the Honorable Wolf was ever given to such uncontrollable anger and rage, was when he received news of the kidnapping of his sweet dear sister. None could fault his anger today, for his son was spirited from the North, dead most likely.

Ned looked upon those that sat before him, and his anger grew at their uselessness and silence. As he opens his mouth to berats them, shame them, curse them, a feminine voice interferes. Ned cut his eyes to her in rage, ready to take the head of the one who interrupted him, only to stop short when he saw the voice belonging to his lady wife.

“It's been nearly a month Ned, all the ravens sent, none have returned with an answer. The best trackers and the best blood hounds found nothing.”

Here she took a deep breath, to not only steady herself, but knowing her next words would cut her husband even deeper than he's been for the last month. It's time we accept that Jon...

“No!” Ned roared, before she could finish her sentence. His voice becoming higher and more broken as he spoke, “I fucking refuse to believe that my boy is-dead?!”

The last words were more of a question than anything else. Then and there, Ned's Stark world truly fell apart. For a full month he kept hope alive that Jon was safe, that he would be found and returned to him, but as those four letters left his mouth, he knew all was lost.

Ned fell in his seat, and a whined full of pain, sorrow and regret left his mouth. “My boy” he whispers. “My boy is dead, my boy is dead,” he continued on, not even caring that his servants, vassals and lady wife were witnessing him at his lowest.

“Leave us.” He heard his lady tell the others.

“With a milord,” he heard the scratching of chairs scraping against the floor, and footsteps retrating, then the opening of his solar door.

Ned could care less he realises.

_**The lady Of Winterfell** _

Catelyn, in all of her ten years with Ned, never saw him so frail than he’s been for the last month since the boy disappeared. Walking toward her husband, she knew not what to do. So she took his tear face, kissed his lips, and laid his head on her abdomen, and allowed him to shed his tears. And before Catelyn knew, she too began to cry silent tears. Ned she knew cried for the loss of her child, while she cries for the loss of her children's innocence.

Ned cried for close to an hour, letting out his pain and sorrow, and his lady wife cried with him. Catelyn knew her tears were not truly for the boy lost, as much as she loath to admit them. But the tears shed by her were for her husband and her children that loved that boy. So she cried for the heartache that befell her family. After standing for far too long, she was able to maneuver Ned from his desk to the sofa in the solar, where they lay, her on her back, with Ned’s head on her abdomen.

“I’ll have to tell the Children the news,” Ned whispers to his lady. “Then send a missive to Benjen.”

“Aye, but on the morrow my love. Rest this night and gain back your strength before you work yourself too hard and grow sick”

“How can I, when my blood is spirited from me?” Voiced Ned with a hitch in his voice.

“Jon loves him you know?” Ned spoke in a heartbroken tone.

“Whom does Jon love?” Catelyn questions back. “Do you mean Robb?”

“Benjen.” Ned replies. “Jon loves him.”

“Of course Jon loves him, he is his uncle my love.”

“You don’t understand,” whispered Ned. “Jon loves him as a son loves a father, and Benjen feels the same. I see the way they interact with each other when Benjen comes to Winterfell, the way they laugh amongst each other. The only times Jon ever acts his age are when he’s with Benjen.” Ned’s voice hitch with that last sentence, and Catelyn felt more tears wet her clothing.

‘Are you jealous because your bastard loves his uncle as a father my love? Or are you jealous he sees his uncle as more of a father than you?’ Catelyn didn’t know if she should laugh or cry at such declarations from her husband. Though part of her refuses to say it out loud, a small part of her rejoices. So instead, she bit her lip and listened instead.

Ned not knowing of the inner struggles his lady wife was going through continues to speak.

“When Benjen hears of this, I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me you know. Worse yet, I don’t think he’ll ever show himself in Winterfell again.”

Catelyn was surprised by said declarations from her husband concerning her good brother. “Why would he not come visit? He still has family here. His nieces and nephews.”

“You do not understand” Ned interrupted her. “Benjen loves the children true, but the bond he shared with Jon is far stronger than with his siblings. Benjen sees himself in Jon in a way, a child with no true purpose or prospect in life, but wishes for a purpose to claim as his own.” Ned hitches again, stopping his explanation, his throat clogging once more from crying.

“Benjen though not a bastard had no true prospect in life you see, when the time came he was to be no more but a bannerman for the heir to Winterfell, where Jon never even had such a chance to begin. If Brandon had lived, —Catelyn was surprised when Brandon’s name was spoken out loud, she felt nothing. Months into her marriage to the man she would come to love with all her heart in the future had first fell like a slap to the face, from the prospect of marrying the great and wild Brandon Stark, to the dour Eddard Stark feel like a slap to the face— and I never became the heir, I still would have more prospects to choose from as the second son. Whereas Benjen had none. That’s one of the reasons he joined the Night Watch, Lyanna’s death just made it easier for him to leave. Worse yet,” Ned continues, a hitch in his voice-”Benjen has yet to forgive me for forcing such a turmoil on Jon’s shoulders.

“What do you mean” Catelyn questioned with a frown on her face. It was then Ned turned to look upon her face, and once more shattered her perspective.

“His bastard status” Ned answered with a defeat sigh.

“Benjen wanted Jon legitimized?” Though Catelyn already knew the answer to her question, she still wanted to hear it for no other reasons than to hear it from her husband’s lips. Rising to a seating position and leaving his wife embrace, Catelyn continues to lay down, eyes fixed on her husband, believing the smallest of movement would break the spell, and return her husband to the man that kept secrets from her.

“Aye.” Was the answer Ned whispered to her.

Catelyn's heart beat far faster than she thought possible hearing the confession from her husband.

“Is that the reason why he never warmed to me?”

“No!” Ned exclaimed. Turning to her and grasping her hand in a strong grip, Ned fixes her with his grey eyes. “Benjen loves you, all of us, but Jon is different-Jon is his favorite for he sees himself in him, he is afraid to lose those he cares for, so he keeps himself aloof. Lyanna’s death being the final catalyst, and that feeling never leaving. I fear Benjen shall truly be broken once he hears of Jon's death.” The last words were spoken in a broken and hitched whisper.

A long silence fell between the two. Catelyn watches her husband distrust form facing her, eyes red from crying, shoulders slump, hair messy and unkempt, and no matter how much she tried to be mad after what she learned of her good brother, her love for him, her quiet wolf was just as strong as the day she first realized she loved him. Moving to her husband and enveloping him in her warm embrace, she sent a prayer to her gods, to beg for forgiveness, and to give her family the strength to carry on, and re-emerge stronger through this strategy.

_**The Honorable Wolf**_

Eddard Stark watches as Robb, his oldest, halted at the threshold, and how his eyes surveyed everything in the room. ‘My boy, it seems this tragedy has changed you far more than I would have like.’ Looking down at Arya snuggle to him after another bout of tears, with Sansa seated next to her mother, and Bran on her lap.

‘It seems this tragedy has changed you all. And for the worse it would seem.’

Come Robb. Without giving an answer, Robb walked forward and sat on the chair facing his father. Today Winterfell became a little bleak. For today, the pack lost one of their own.

* * *

**Notes:**

* * *

Chapter 5 is done. I’ll admit, I had trouble writing Catelyn’s part. I wanted her to come off somewhat sympathetic as you readers entered her mind. I might have failed on that part, since everything I wrote down was not what I was thinking of. I had to erase and rewrote her part multiple times.

But on a good note, I absolutely loved writing Jon and Aemon together. I especially like the fact, I can say for sure, that I am the first writer on this site that has made Aemon a warg. If I’m not, I’ll accept 2nd place.

One of the reasons I love this chapter was because I wanted to show 2 things. Aemon being a warg and a student of the Crow, and showing Jon’s sharp mind, and his ability to sense magic when it’s been used in his close proximity.

Also, just because Jon can sense magic, that does not mean Jon would be a badass magic detector and some shits. So for anyone that thinks that, stop it.

Next chapter, Jon leaves the Wall.


	6. Beyond the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon crosses the Wall and finally meets the Crow and his teachers, while Benjen second guesses his choices, and we learn about the trials he is to take part in.

_**A Song Of Wolves And Dragons** _   
_**HouseOfEl** _

* * *

_**VI** _   
_**Beyond the Wall** _

* * *

_**Ash The Unbroken Blade** _

It’s been nearly three moons since he crossed the Northern tundra’s and came to the so-called Three Eyed Crow Beyond the wall to wait for the young King, and nearly five years since he parted from his two brothers. Him staying north to serve the young King, and his two brothers heading first to Dorne, then the narrow sea to protect the other young Queen and his brother.

_‘Ten years since you died my brother...Ten years since I failed you and your family.’_ Thinking of those failures never fails to reignite the fires of revenge that burns within him, and knowing his brothers, he knows they feel the same.

Waking up in the household of Holland of House Reed, Bannerman of the Starks and learning of the end of the war, and the future war, the true war to come from the Crow was perplexing.

It seems their injuries were far more life threatening then they once believed. With their injuries, mixed in with the amulets' magics, their bodies grew weaker too fast the longer they wore the amulets. Many times death came close to claiming the three.

It was later they found out, when death once more returned to claim them the final time, that it was the amulets themselves that were killing them. According to the Crow all those years ago, their bloods held little to no magics, so the amulets were slowly sipping their strength from them to continue functioning. And with their injuries, the added stress of the amulets refusing to allow their bodies time to heal, they slowly began to die.

With the amulets removed, Howland Reed had taken them to a small Crannog far from the castle, yet close enough to be able to monitor their progress, and with three trustworthy men to watch their progress, the healing began. It took nearly three years of hiding, and without the amulets for them to truly feel like the man of old they were, for after taking the amulets off, they looked more like skeletons than full muscled men. The amulets had eaten away at their muscle mass and fats. So weak they were, a child could have pushed them over without even trying.

So they began training anew, at first it was a struggle to even lift their blades, let alone go through a full course of sword training. Movements that should have been executed flawlessly were performed as if they were green young pages first wielding a blade. Frustration was apparent in all three, and having Howland Reed's men treating them like children did not help matters.

So after having the three men taught them how to survive this treacherous new land in the Neck, they send them packing back with a letter to Lord Reed explaining their decisions, and thanking him for all he's done. With the Crow’s guidance they took to their training.

Four years of intense training would pass before the three blades to be blessed by the Crow presence, and as much as the three hated to admit it, the Crow was right. It took them seven years to begin their plan,

In all honesty, with rage of revenge being the forefront of their minds, left to their own devices without guidance, and no matter how idiotic it was, they would have charged North, grab the young Prince, then to Dorne for the first Princess, then East to meet up with the other two royals. It would have all been a waste of time, for in their weakened state of being, they would have easily been dispatched by any mediocre swordsman’s, and all their plans would have been for naught. He was glad the Crow kept them in check, no matter how much his pride sting admitting such truth.

Then one night, Lord Reed came to them, and they knew it was time. Saying goodbye was hard. He remembered that night when they sat around the fire, reminiscing of the past. They laugh, shed tears, and new vows were forged, and in the morning, his two brothers took a boat that would ferry them to Dorne, then to Essos, all thanks to Lord Reed.

He stayed one more year there alone, training, honing his skills even more. But he knew, no matter how much training, without the proper opponents, it was all useless.

He was visited once more by Lord Reed, and he was given visitation rights to Greywater watch before journeying the far North. Though he declined as tactfully as possible… _’for it would be a shame if the Lord took it as an insult, for men were truly prideful creatures when they believed their honor were spit upon.’_ He was glad when Lord Reed just smiled at him and told him he understood.

With the sun still hiding behind the mountains, Lord Reed and he shook hands, and he turned to follow his new path. Looking at the Crow that took flight, he began his new journey North, the Journey to his young not yet King.

“Why must you think only of the past young one?” It was the crow’s gravelly voice that brought him back to the present.

Opening his eyes, arms still cross, he surveyed the Crow…"are you one to truly lecture me on thinking of nothing but the past Crow?” He answered back with some bite in his words.

“Hmm,” the Crow quietly hums. “That is true I do think of the past, but the difference, young one, is that I look upon the past to see how to serve our King, and to better prepare him for the final true war.”

He could only scowl at the Crow, for he had no answer to give. “When does the king arrive?” We’re his response instead.

“He shall be here shortly, in mere hours if the gods are good.” Spoke the Crow.

_‘Gods!’_ He scoffed and scowled, two expressions that've been constant with him since he woke up ten years ago and learning of his failures… their failures. _‘For all their powers, they allowed those tragedies to befell the innocents… why take her child away, and forever remove her beautiful smile? Worse yet, they took her light from this shit stains world and made the realm a little darker?’_

Those dark thoughts entered his mind, and aloud his words carried the same scorn. “Gods!?” He scoffed in scorn. “I have seen what God’s allows to happen in their names, they can stay where they are, and I shall live in the now in this shit stains world.”

“I know what you’re thinking off young one,” the Crow interrupted his rant. “But remember, it is because of the Gods we are giving this chance. Remember you live because of the Old God's interference.”

A scoff left his throat and mouth. “I would gladly die a thousand deaths if it meant those innocents were spared, my brothers I know feel the same. The gods,” Ash continues, “are selective in whom they save. This war,” Ash spread his arms wide, voice all but a growl, “is there way of staying relevant, knowing if humanity lost, they shall all be forgotten, and they are afraid—“

“Enough!” Exclaimed the Crow. Though his voice was soft, the power it carried vibrated in the chamber. Ash could feel the darkness closing in on him, even with the torches still lit. The cavern became heavy with magic, magic coming from the ground, the tree, and being directly fed to the Crow. Ash could see the very tree the Crow uses as his so-called throne grind and twist, as if it had a mind of its own.

“I know you do not like the Gods, but know that my Gods, the Old Gods are different from the Seven and the Lord of Light, and they have done all in their powers to give us a chance. It is thanks to my gods we all are here, that you are here.” The Crow emphasizes the here part. “This shall be the last time you shall insult my Gods in my presence boy!”

Since coming here, Ash found few things can upset the Crow. Even the end of mankind to a point did not upset him so-but insult his Gods, or the Children of the Forest, and he became a monster one should be wary of. And he knew for a fact, if he were to attack the Crow, he would not get one step in before he is killed. Either by the Children, the Crow, worse yet, the magic he knew that resides in this living palace. So he swallows his pride, for the Crow was still needed for their plan to come to fruition.

_‘Let's not make new enemies when you’re already surrounded.’_

“Forgive me Crow, I didn't mean to insult your gods. Though I am grateful for the second chance given to us, you must understand that when I close my eyes, I can still see the vision of their deaths. How they were paraded, with no justice being done or given for them. Only Ned Stark and Stannis Baratheon of all people saw it as the injustice it was…” —Ash squeezes his hand into a fist to stop the shaking in his sword hand— “Something like that tends to raise my ire, so much so that I cannot control my own tongue.”

“You must learn!” Answered the Crow in a still harsh tone. “For once the young King leaves this place, you shall be his guardian wherever he goes, and I do not need my powers to know you shall cross path with the ones responsible. If you cannot hold your tongue now, tell me then, how shall you hold said tongue then?” The Crow did not even offer Ash a chance to answer before he continued his rant. “Worse yet, how shall you stay your blade when you come face to face with those responsible for those tragedies? And if you are foolish enough to raise arms against them, not only shall you be outnumbered, your action shall also put the young King in danger. Is that what you desire!?” The Crow finished, his rage palpable.

“Of course not!” Ash answered back in just a harsher tone, his teeth grinding against each other in his rage from the Crow’s insinuation of putting his King’s life in danger just for revenge.

“I shall die a thousand death before I place his life in danger due to my actions!”

“Good.” The Crow answered back after a beat of silence. “I shall keep you to that promise Ash of the unbroken blade.”

Ash couldn’t help but scoff at the nickname. A nickname when first spoken out loud by the Crow when he first came to this place had him scratching his head in confusion. According to the Crow, the name was given to him by the Children, for they saw him as a broken man, but though broken, he was not truly broken, he still possessed an ember that just needed the right gust of wind to set off, and become a raging inferno. So he took the nickname, doesn’t mean he cared for it.

Returning back to the present, Ash went to answer the Crow, only to be cut off by the Crow announcing the arrival of the King, and to hide itself until he was ready to be introduced.

Ash felt insulted by such a dismissal, as if he were just a mere dog, but knowing arguing was a waste of time, he relented. Following the torches aligned on the underground so-called castle, Ash of the unbroken blade sulks further into the darkness, and awaits his time when his King is ready to meet him. The darkness itself shook as it embraced the blade, as if knowing of the man’s turbulent thoughts and emotions. And embrace him it did, covering and soothing his rage, until all that was left were his glowing eyes, until even those were covered by the darkness.

_**The Wolf On the Wall** _

After leaving Maester Aemon’s and arriving in his room. It took Benjen less than an hour to finish ready. Packing the three books in his saddle, making sure Jon had enough clothing to keep warm for the trek, and enough food for the two to last two weeks. Benjen strapped Jon to his back with ropes and made their way to the stables to the undead stead giving to him.  
Reaching the dead stead, Benjen swore he saw a look of wonderment pass in the eyes of the dead horse once he saw Jon peeking behind him. Climbing the horse, Benjen made his way to the tunnel and to the exit that leads outside to the wild.

He was surprised when his eyes fell on the Lord Commander near the entrance to the tunnel, and both he and Jon tensed just a little. Even with the amulet protecting Jon from the sights of others, it was still a little scary when he was in the presence of others, and the only one who could see Jon but himself. According to the Crow, the only reason he could still see Jon was because the spell used was blood magic. When he asked why Robb and Jon couldn’t see his disguise back in winter town? The crow’s answer had vexed him. It seems while he slept when he was first rescued by the Crow, his blood was taken without his consent, and Jon had willingly filled a vial with his blood and given it to a crow, and the spell activated when Jon wore his amulet, and with both amulets being worn, and the Crow watching, he had activated the spell. So now with the blood magic in effect, they can see the other even if one were to lose their amulets.

“Lord Commander,” Benjen greeted his leader. “Why are you here?”

The Lord Commander’s steel like eyes pierced Benjen’s own grey orbs. “Maester Aemon and I had a talk, he believes there is something far more dangerous than The King Beyond the Wall, and his army of Wildlings. I know not what he speaks off, but I’ve known that man for far too long to just wave away his concerns. So Benjen Stark, if Maester Aemon truly is right” —Benjen could see the way the Old Bear had to fight himself to demand such a thing, it truly is unimaginable to suddenly be told all you’ve known about the realm to be lies?— “I want you to keep your eyes open, if true, observe only, do not engage, then report back to me.”

“Understood Lord Commander, I shan’t fail you.”

“Bah!” Responded the Lord Commander. “Do not worry about failing me, just come back alive you hear? We’ve lost far too many brothers as it is. It’s hard to get any good man to willingly take the Black to begin with, and if all the good ones keep on dying, I’ll be left with nothing but rapist and heartless murderers to lead.”

“Aye Lord Commander,” Benjen answered in a playful tone.

“Good,” leaning down a little bit, Benjen and his Lord clap hands.

“Good ranging Benjen Stark.”

With that Benjen rapped his horse to move forward. “Open the gate!” His Lord Commander shouted.

As the gate opens, Benjen closes his eyes, fills his lungs with air, then slowly releases it as a gust of cold winds hit his face. Opening his eyes, a grin made his way to his face. Any man watching would have claimed it was the face of a maniac, a heartless killer, but those that knew him well would tell you, this was the face of the Ranger, the best Castle Black had to offer, this was the face of the Wolf On the Wall.

Nudging his stead forward, said stead began a slow galloped that picked up speed to a full sprint by the time he exited the gates.

After nearly twenty minutes of hard riding, Benjen slows the stead to a slow stride, giving him the needed balance and leverage to cut the ropes around his waist, and having Jon properly sat, Benjen continued to survey the area in case of danger from the natural to supernatural.

“This is so beautiful uncle. The snow here is so white and pure, even the trees here are taller than those in the Wolfswood!” Jon broke the silence they fell too ever since leaving Castle Black.

Benjen could hear the wonders in his nephews voice, and he couldn’t agree more.

“Aye nephew, it’s because here, in this fierce wilderness, and unlike us, the Wildlings are a nomadic group of people, few of them stays in one place for long, and unlike us, they do not use woods to build houses, but weapons, fires, and a few assortments to help them, and since they move around so much, they are not putting too much pressure on one resources constantly.” Explained Benjen.

“Why do we fight against the Wildlings' uncle? We know the true enemy is out there, why are we not forming an alliance with the Wildlings instead?”

A small chuckle left Benjen lips. “It’s so simple Jon, for many years, both sides have done nothing but fight each other, so much so that along the way we’ve both forgotten the true reason for our animosities. So now we fight because we know not how to stop.”

“I see” was Jon’s simple reply.

_‘Another weight you’ve chosen to put upon your young shoulders. I know of your thinking Jon, and by the Old God, I wish you not to follow such a logic, for I’ll end in nothing but failures... I wonder would a time ever come where you choose to be selfish, and live for yourself first my nephew?’_

The thoughts left Benjen just as quickly as they entered his mind. For he knew, Jon was not the type to run and let others suffer, be they family or strangers. He was both proud and sad of his nephew's character.

“Jon,” his uncle whispered to him. “We’re close to entering the Haunted Forest. Once we cross, I want you to keep your eyes open, and your knives easily accessible. Know this nephew, I say this not to scare you, but to prepare you for what lurks in there.”

“I shall be diligent uncle.” Jon was quick to answer. Benjen couldn’t help but smile. Though he heard the uncertainty in his voice, and the way he shifted in the saddle ever discreetly, he couldn’t help the swell of pride in his chest. ‘Such a brave little wolf you are nephew.’

After entering the Haunted Forest, the quietness was even more potent. Benjen could feel Jon’s body shaking both to the cold and the stillness of the forest. It seems the animals were in hiding, either from the Others, or the dead stead he rode upon, Benjen did not know, and he hated the feeling. The feeling of not knowing was one of the worst feelings anyone could ever be faced with in his opinion.

It would be hours before Benjen would come to a stop near one of the many rivers that flowed from the Bay Of Ice, the woods becoming sparse that the sky could clearly be seen.

Benjen watches as his nephew continues to look in awe, moving his head in quick jerky movements.

“Where are we now exactly Uncle?” Jon asked, and Benjen knew the reasons he was asking was not mere curiosity, but instead his nephew wanting to learn more, and becoming more knowledgeable in what's beyond the wall. Benjen smiles at the boy’s hunger for more knowledge.

“We are in between the two prongs of the rivers that flow from the Bay Of Ice.” Explains Benjen as he refills his and Jon’s near empty water skins after stopping to rest. “We’ll cross further North, about a mile where there’s a bridge made of ice.” Benjen further explains to Jon, while watching him play with the knife in his hand, twisting and flipping it to and fro, then making slashing and stabbing motions at unseen enemies.

“What are you doing Jon?” Benjen asks while pointing to the knife in Jon’s hand with a frown on his face. A gesture Benjen has been doing far more lately when it comes to interacting with Jon due to his behaviors.

“Training” was Jon's one worded response.

Benjen raised one eyebrow at his nephew’s answer while shooting him a look that told him to explain more. And if the smile on Jon’s face was anything to go by, he knew exactly what he was doing from his one worded answer.

“One of the many things the Crow have taught me is that both the mind and body need stimulation to grow” begin Jon. Benjen watches as his face crunches in concentration trying to remember what he was taught by the Crow. “The Crow told me for me to grow faster and quicker, I must always find a way to stimulate my body and mind. If I am unable to read or to distracted to use my mind, then train the body, and doing something as simple as this” —Jon pointed to himself flipping and twisting the knife casually— “forces my body to learn such simple movements, but also forces my mind to, even without my knowing to mesmerize the movements.

“I see,” Benjen answered, not knowing what else to say after such an elaborate but simple in nature explanation from his nephew.

“Is it safe to cross?” Jon questions after going through a series of motions with his knife that Benjen believes if it were a normal person watching could not have followed, or at least would have trouble following.

“It should be. Even if it’s not, the river up north is not deep enough that our stead can’t just march through.” Benjen answers.

“Doesn’t the Wildlings use these lands uncle?”

“That they do. But why ask that question?” Benjen answers, giving his attention to Jon, while staying vigilant. Though looking at the highest tree branch, he spots at least three crow perched, watching the horizon. _‘Crow, I assume if your birds are in the sky keeping vigilant, I must also assume you have eyes on the ground as well then.’_ Benjen casually looked around, trying to spy the Crows ground troop, and he wasn’t surprised when he saw none.

Benjen came back to himself just as Jon continued.

“I mean” Jon begins, “if they use this river, you’ll think they would have built a bridge to make crossing easy.”

Benjen chuckled. “True they use this river, but like I said before, the Wildlings are a nomadic group of people. Why waste time building a bridge when they only come to this part to hunt.”

“I guess,” Jon answered back with uncertainty.

‘His mind is trying to understand them’ Benjen guest. _‘I guess it was the right decision not passing by Crater’s Keep knowing that sick fuck. And knowing Jon, he would have taken affront knowing how Craster treated those women. Though I can’t protect your innocence fully, the least I can do is protect it in this aspect when it concerns our other halves.’_

“One never truly gets used to the cold beyond the Wall, no matter how long one lives here, not even the Wildlings are immune to it,” explains Benjen after watching Jon rubbing his arms, trying to stay warm even with all the layers of furs on his small frame.

“I knew it was to be cold, but never did I think it this bad” Jon spoke, followed by a shiver that had Benjen burst in laughter. Jon himself couldn't help but to laugh as well.

“Where is our next destination once we make the crossing?” Jon questioned while surveying the vast area. “Better yet” Jon turns to Benjen, “do you not have a map of this area?”

Benjen burst into laughter again. “I swear boy, you are too smart for your own good. Aye nephew, I have a map, and for some strange reasons it slipped my mind.”

Going to the stead, and rummaging through his satchel, Benjen pulls out a map. Spreading the map on a rock, he beckons Jon over. Squatting down, head bend over the map, Benjen shows Jon the layout.

“We are here, and like I said before, this is one of the many rivers that diverge from the Bay Of Ice. Moving north from this spot, we’ll cross over the frozen river here. Then we head North for a few more miles till we reach the Fist Of The First Man, and from there, we head east to the Antlers River. Do you understand?” Finished Benjen.

“Aye I do. But why take this unnecessary route?” Instead Jon pointed on the map, “we could just as easily head straight North, and reach the Antlers River far faster. And if we needed water, we could just as easily add snow to our water skins till they melt. More so, there are still two rivers on this side of the map.”

Jon looked upon his uncle’s face, waiting for him to tell him his reasonings.

“Benjen let out a sigh, that was my plan for the beginning, but the Crow wanted us to take this road instead.” Seeing the frown on Jon's face, Benjen was quick to add the rest. “The Crow believes it to be safer for our journey. Plus, digesting the snow from the ground without properly diluting it might lead to us getting sick.”

Reaching the next leg of their journey, night was upon them. Benjen not wanting to travel at night, even with the moon so bright, leads the stead to a small hidden cove under the mountain that provides protection from the cold in all directions. Dismounting, Benjen unsheathes his blade, and with a look that meant for Jon to be silent enters.

Not a minute later, Benjen returned, blade in scabbard. “I had to make sure it was safe before we both entered,” Benjen explained after witnessing the sour look on his nephew’s face.

Though the inside could not be considered a place of leisure, it was big enough to bring the stead in, and still have enough room for both occupants to move freely.

“What is this place?” Questions Jon while squatting near the fire his uncle had just created.

“This is one of the few places we Rangers use when we range beyond the Wall. We call them safe houses.”

“Aren’t you afraid the Wildlings might find them?” Jon asks while rubbing his hands on the open flame to warm himself up.

“That is a possibility, but it’s hidden pretty well, that one must know what they’re looking for to find it.” Smiles Benjen. “Even if they were to be found, it holds nothing of value but a place to sleep when it grows too cold outside.” Finishes Benjen taking a seat by the small fire, while keeping the entrance in his line of sight, after leading the dead stead and laying it in the entrance, that if by some reason the Crow and himself were to missed being sneaked on, the stead would be an obstacle they would need to jump over to get to him and Jon.

“Eat, drink, then sleep nephew. By the morrow, if the gods are kind, we shall reach the Crow.”

Benjen watches as Jon fights the call of slumber wanting to stay with him.

“What of you?” Jon yawns, “don’t you need to sleep? I can keep watch while you sleep as well.”

Benjen smiles at Jon... “I've ranged beyond the wall by myself more times than I can count, even going days without sleep, missing a night of slumber won’t hurt.”

With the look of determination set in place on Jon’s face, a look so similar seen only from Lyanna when she chose to be her stubborn self, Benjen's throat clogged with unshed tears that he had to take a few seconds of composure before he could say anything.

“What say we come to an understanding then? You sleep first and I stand guard, and in a few hours, I shall wake you to stand guard while I rest?”

“Deal,” Jon quickly answered, while putting his hand forward for his uncle to shake. Benjen shook his head in exasperation, but relented and enveloped his nephews hand into his far larger one.

_‘He is as stubborn as you were dear sister, never stopping until he brings others to his line of thinking.’_

Benjen shook his head from the painful thoughts as he watched in less than a minute his nephew was fast asleep. Benjen then removes his blade from its scabbard and lays it on his thighs, eyes ever vigilant, ever ready for any threat.

_‘Sleep well nephew, and know I watch over you tonite, and no harm shall befall you, that is my solemn vow to you.’_

“You lied,” Jon exclaimed after coming awake. Benjen turned his head around watching as Jon struggled with the removal of the furs that kept him warm the night prior. Not giving his nephew a response, Benjen returns to his task of checking the saddles on the stead, making sure they are tight, his daggers in the proper places, and putting his furs away. All he needed now was Jon’s.

“Well!” Jon exclaims when his question goes unanswered, only to grow more impatient when Benjen only asks for the furs he uses to sleep last night.

Benjen couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the boy’s stubbornness, instead of doing what he was asked, he instead stomped his foot instead and demanded an answer from him instead. Benjen let out a sigh of defeat, knowing his nephew —just like his mother would not soon let it rest— gave his nephew his full attention.

“Aye, I lied, you needed the rest” began Benjen. But as he went to continue his reasoning, Jon fired back passionately.

“I did not. That was not the deal!” Jon exclaimed while stomping his small foot. Benjen would have laughed at both the gesture and passion if the situation was not so dire.

With a sigh, Benjen took one step putting himself before Jon, and kneeling before him, putting both man and child at eye level. laying his hands on Jon's shoulders, Benjen gave it a small squeeze.

“Listen Jon,” he began in a defeated tone. It seems that his nephew was able to discern the distress in his voice, for he closed his mouth and swallow his protest and allowed Benjen to say his piece.

“In less than a day, I turn you over to the Three-Eyed Crow, in less than a day, I shan’t see you till he deems you ready, in less than a day nephew I turn you over, and force you to sacrifice your life for this realm.”

A look of surprise appeared on Jon’s face when a hitch escaped his uncle's throat, then the tears to follow next. Once the tears began, Benjen realized he could not stop himself.

“In less than a day” —Benjen stops to clear his throat— “I shall force upon your shoulders the survival of this realm.”

“I chose this uncle!” Jon exclaimed, interrupting him while using his small hands to wipe his uncle’s tears.

“You are a boy of nine and half Jon!” Benjen fires back just as quickly, “you shouldn’t be forced to make such a decision.” Benjen once more squeezed Jon's shoulder, more for his own comfort then Jon. “So if I choose to let you sleep for a night, then…” the words die in Benjen's throat when Jon leans forward and embraces his Uncle with short arms.

“Uncle,” Jon whispers near his ear. “Know this, I was not forced into this, I willingly chose this path. What kind of a man would I be if I were to stay my hand, to willingly sit back and watch as the weak are threatened and killed.”

Another painful sob left Benjen's throat with that last sentence. A memory of Lyanna protecting Howland Reed made their way to the forefront of his mind.

_‘Oh Lyanna, he is just like you.’_

Jon not knowing what passed through his uncle's thoughts continues on whispering to him.

“We know of the coming darkness that threatens the realm, and we now have a chance to fight back, we have knowledge from the Old Gods themselves, how can you ask me to stay my hand Uncle?”

Benjen heard the passion, the sureness in his nephew's tone, and he knew nothing he said would move him from his goal, so he did the only thing he could, he stayed quiet, he cried more, and held him a little harder, drawing strength from each other.

Benjen after calming himself, releases Jon, and with a watery apology, stood up and went outside. Jon knowing his uncle needed the space, allowed him space.

Benjen walked into the cold to clear himself, and a part of him wanted to scream out, to rage against it all. But knowing it not wise, less he be heard, either from the predators, Wildlings, worse yet the Others, Benjen held his rage.

It won’t be for another half hour before he went back to Jon.

Entering the small cave, it seems his nephew did not stay static. The horse, and the furs used to sleep in were all packed, the fire covered by fresh dirt, and the woods hidden. Breaking their fast, consisting of nothing but dried meat, and followed by water, the two head outside, mount the stead, and continue their journey.

By the time they reached the Antler’s River, the sun was already high in the sky. Coming to a stop near a small clearing, Benjen surveys the area. Finding nothing, Benjen twists in the saddle searching.

“What is it uncle?”

“This is where the Crow told me to meet” Benjen answered in a huff. “And he is late”

“Do you not know the place?” Ask Jon. “If you already met the Crow, how do you not remember his home?”

“Aye” Benjen answers, “but when I was first brought to his home, I was unconscious, and when I departed, it was night, and I could see nothing then, and the stead guide me.” Benjen finishes with another huff.

Nearly ten minutes passed before Benjen lost his temper, and as he went to dismount the stead to search the area, the cawing of a crow perched on a tree caught both of their attention, and said stead began moving on its own. _‘It seems you’re taking control then Crow? Bout damn time! Leaving us in the damn open, what would have happened if the Walkers in their minions attacked us?’_ Benjen seethed inside while eyeing the crow. The crow as if to mock him, lean his head to the left, caw once more, then take flight. Benjen snapped his eyes forward, watching where the dead stead were taking them.

“Hold on tight Jon” Whispers Benjen, once the stead begins picking up speed.

The further they traveled into the woods, the deeper and condensed it became. On multiple twists and turns they went, with Benjen losing his way on multiple occasions, trying to memorize the routes.

_‘No wonder your enemies are unable to locate you. If one does not know where to go, they would truly be lost.’_

Senses open and attuned to all, the more he concentrated, the worse he became, haziness and equilibrium took hold of him, and in the end, it was all for naught. But still he tried.

A new wave of dizziness hit him, and Benjen Stark fell face first to the ground, asleep.

It was Jon’s voice that snapped him back to the realm of the living.

Benjen came to with a start, eyes darting for hidden dangers, blade drawn from its scabbard, taking a defensive stance, and pushing Jon behind him.

“What are you doing Uncle Benjen?”

“What does it look like i'm doing?” Benjen notes back. “I passed out for god knows how long, our stead is missing, and for all I know, we could be surrounded by enemies.”

“I think you might have hit your head a little too hard when you fell,” explains Jon as he begins to move forward. Benjen, perplexed by his nephew's attitude, yanks him back and spins him around to face him before he could get too far ahead before him. Looking down at his nephew’s relaxed posture, Benjen was even more confused.

“Explain!” Was all he could say at the time. Jon once more turns from him and begins to casually walk forward again.

“Jon!” Hisses Benjen. “I said explain, not walk away from me.”

Once more, Jon turns to face his uncle with a sour mood to his face, _‘he even pouts like you Lyanna.’_ The thoughts came to him without wanting too.

Dropping and squatting down where he stood, Jon waves Benjen forward. As if possessed, Benjen walks forward and kneels before his nephew, one eye on the boy, while the other watches for any threats.

“It seems you were under a spell, mixed with a glamour spell on a far wider range if I had to guess.” Spoke Jon.

“A spell?... How?!” Benjen asks, both bewildered and shocked at Jon’s lack of worry. Watching him, Benjen saw the boy kneeling before him was relaxed and in control, speaking with certainty. Before Benjen could contemplate more, Jon continues his explanation.

“I believe you fell upon said spell when you dismounted the stead.”

“Wait!” Benjen put his hand up, stopping his nephew from continuing on. “I never dismounted, when I went to dismount, the stead began to move. Do you not remember?”

“Actually.... you did dismount the stead uncle. I believe that’s when you fell upon the spell, you began to act weird. At first I thought we were in danger, and once no treats emerged, then I remember that I came here to train to fight the greatest threat to the realm. What if this was a test?! What if my training began the second I crossed the wall? In the end, I chose to trust my instincts and blood.” Jon spoke, each explanation leaving his lips felt with glee Benjen noted.

“Your blood?” Whispered Benjen, one eyebrow raise.

“Aye, the Three Eyed Crow have told me multiple times, that magic flows through my veins. So I listened to said magic.”

“I see” answers Benjen while rubbing his head for the headache that was becoming more bothersome the more Jon explained what happened to him. “Where is our stead then?” He asks after taking a deep breath.

“I left it behind,” answered Jon. “I do not believe he can cross the barriers around this place.”

“Why do you believe there’s a barrier here?” Benjen pondered. ‘Another secret the Crow failed to convey to me it would seem… damn bastard.’

“Well the stead is dead,” answers Jon as if the answer was so simple, and if the look upon his face were any indication, he believed it to be so.

“And how or why do you know the stead was dead?” Benjen carries on.

“It never breathes,'' answered Jon.

“Oh!” That was all Benjen could say to his nephew squatting down and looking up at him with a look. If Benjen had to put into words to said look, it would have been of annoyance, and exasperation, and probably a few more Benjen couldn’t name at the moment.

“Stranger still” continues Jon, how was the dead stead able to cross the wall, but not this space?” Jon waves his hand on their current area.

“Hmm” Benjen couldn’t help but hum to himself, realizing such a truth. Another set of questions he needed to ask the Crow, but for the moment would be put on whole.

“Well then” begins Benjen while scratching the back of his head with one hand, and counting on the other. “How was the spell broken, and how long have we walked? And Where are we?”

“I do not know fully, but I surmise the spell was broken when you hit your head. Then again,” —Jon made a face from his own answer, as if not truly accepting it. Only to confirm Benjen’s guess with his next words— “that makes no sense. I mean, if the spell can so easily be broken by just hitting your head, it would be a waste of time for a spell to be cast.”

“As to your second question, we’ve walked for about an hour, or maybe less, and we are just a few meters to the entrance to the cave,” Jon finished while pointing to his back. And low and behold, Benjen spots the entrance to said cave.

“Wait?” Benjen put his left hand up. “You said we walked for nearly an hour, and I was under a spell, if all those are true, how did it all come to pass?”

Jon sucked in his teeth in annoyance. “You fell under the spell, I guided you, you then trip, and here we are.”

“That's it?” Ask benjen.

“Aye,” Jon answered, his face still crunched in annoyance, making Benjen smile and Jon more annoyed.

“So anticlimactic” was Benjen anwer after a beat of silence.

“Good Job Jon.” Benjen Leans forward to rub Jon’s head, and Benjen couldn’t help but to smile wider when Jon bends his head in embarrassment from the praise.

_‘You deserve the praise my boy.’_

Getting back to their feet, the two made their way to the entrance of the cave, only to come short when Jon abruptly stopped at the threshold. Benjen stops as well, not saying anything, and letting Jon take the plunge. Knowing once more, this decision was his and his alone.

While waiting for Jon’s answer, Benjen once more swore to the Old Gods, that not even the Three Eyed Crow himself would stop him if his nephew were to choose to turn back. Benjen looked down at Jon, and all he could do as a show of support was to lay his hand on his shoulder and give a strong squeeze.

_‘Another precipice nephew, what is your choice?’_

It seems Jon understood the gesture, for he casually leaned into the touch, turned his head and looked up to Benjen and offered him a genuine smile. A smile Benjen couldn’t help but to return, for his nephew rarely shows the world his true smile.

The two stood there for more than ten minutes before Benjen broke the eerie silence.

“Are you scared?” With no answer from Jon, Benjen carries on. “There’s no need to be strong Jon, if you choose right here, right now to return home, I shall make it so. You have my word nephew.”

Jon’s answer to him was to first chuckle at his inquiry. “I thank you uncle.” And Benjen could feel a different demeanor taking over his nephew. A strength he never fell from him before. “But I am not scared, I just needed to gain my bearings, and remember why I chose this path.”

Benjen could feel Jon shoulders under his palm squaring and raising in strength, even his voice was full of nothing but confidence, not even an inch of wavering could be heard.

“Let’s go forward uncle.”

With those last words, Jon took his first step, and crossed the precipice that would change his world forever, and Benjen was both sad and joyful at his nephew’s confidence.

_**The Three Eyed Crow** _

The Three Eyed Crow watches the young King from above the second he was spirited by his uncle in winter town. Since then, one eye has been kept on the young King. Not only for his own protection, but for his own sanity. The Crow wasn’t blind to the evils of man. Though the darkness that resides far north needed to be vanquished, the Crow in his long life realized men were far more evil. He knew this, for in his old life, he was both forced and willingly made decisions others thought were questionable, even if they were for the betterment of the realm.

The Crow watches the young King’s interaction with Aemon Targaryen, and he couldn’t help but smile.

 _‘Yes’_ he thought, visiting Aemon was truly the best scenario. After all, Aemon showed him something he in all likely did not think of. _‘To be a good King.’_ True Aemon did not outright tell him at first, but the books given to Jon were an indication.

After the King had departed, he had entered Aemon’s dreams, and he shared his thoughts with his old friend, and Aemon once more showed him had he chosen to rule Westeros, he would have indeed made a good King...maybe even better than any before him.

“No!” Aemon had answer with passion in his voice. “Do not just show him the good Kings, show him the evil ones, for they were also Kings. Show him what he should never become, what he should strive in his reign to avoid. So show him those evil rulers. For how can he avoid the evils of those Kings of old, if he does not know better!”

At first when he thought of contacting Aemon, he believed Aemon, though magic flowed through his veins, and in his many years of living had seen certain things only magic could explain would still deny the dreams. Yet when Aemon believed him so easily, for some reason his heart grew lighter, it sang if he was honest with himself. “Why?” He had questioned himself, and in the end, he let it go, thinking it a waste of time to think about such a trivial matter when far more important actions were needed.

That night and many other nights, he shared the visions with his old black brother, omitting none but that tragedy. He feared showing Aemon the sacking, and the brutality of it, not wanting to break him, let alone push him into an early grave. Yet Aemon was adamant of seeing said tragedy, insisting if he was to be of help to the young King, he would need to see the evils of that day. So with a heavy heart, he showed Aemon the pass, and Instead of breaking his brother's mind, he was surprised when instead of surrender, and once the tears dried, a fire grew in Aemon’s eyes that night, and the Crow witnessed the ‘blood of the Dragon’ awakening in his brother.

Then the training began.

Though blind and old, Aemon was just as eager to learn. Teaching him to be a skinchanger, though hard because of old age, and maturity. For like anything else in life, magic needed to be taught when one was young, for the body and mind in combination with magic needed time to develop, and all three needed to sync. In the end, it was his Targaryen blood, borne to magic since ‘old Valyria,’ and his life spent at the wall, another construct of pure magic that helped.

Training was hard, but not once did Aemon give up. Then it happened, Aemon warged into one of his birds, and the Crow could not remember a time he ever saw his old brother smile so wide. For the first time in years, Aemon had regained his sights, though only temporarily, and only when he habited his birds. It was nonetheless welcomed from a man that lost something so important to him.

Now with Aemon and Benjen working on a plan in capturing a wight to show the realm, he was glad he contacted his old brother and brought him into the fold of things. With those two working in tandem to formulate a plan, capturing of said wights should be less difficult, and with Aemon’s words to Benjen on bringing the Lord Commander into the fray, the Night Watch might become a force to reckon with once the young King took over for the final war against the Night King.

The Crow hums thinking about Aemon’s and Benjen’s plan on capturing a Wight. _‘It would seem they have forgotten that I am the Three Eyed Crow.’_

He watches as the young King sees through the illusion the Children of the Forest set up to test him, and he couldn’t help but give a quick small grin.

_‘Brilliant young one, seeing through the illusion. Though the illusion spell is weak in nature for anyone that dabbles in magic, but for you to see through it is amazing. Especially with no formal training.’_

The Crow continues to watch the young child getting more annoyed as he explains to Benjen Stark what transpired when he was caught in the spell.

_‘Even from this distance, I can sense the magic in his blood. Wolf and Dragon interwoven... such a union... so much power in your veins.’_

The Crow watches as the blade sulks into the darkness after their conversation. He couldn’t help but smile at such childish behavior from a man grown. And with a nod, the children themselves follow the blade into the darkness, to wait for the right time to introduce themselves.

The Three Eyed Crow for a reason unknown to him took a deep breath to steady his nerves, for this will be the first time the young King would lay eyes upon his true form, and for reasons unknown to him, he needed, wanted for the young King to not be scared of this talking skeleton… a thing seeing only in nightmares.

The young King and his uncle finally enter the center of the cave, and their eyes lock.

_**The Bastard Beyond The Wall** _

After explaining to his uncle of the illusion he was able to see through, both man and child entered the cave.

Nostalgia was what hit Jon first the second his foot made it pass the threshold to the Crow’s home, then memories. Though this is the first time he set foot in this place physically, his astral self, along with the Crow, walked these corridors multiple times, so he knew exactly where to go.

“Damn it” Benjen exclaimed. For not even ten steps in, their first obstacle lay before them in the form of a three way crossway.

Jon smiles as his uncle curses again. Since traveling with Benjen, Jon saw a completely different side to him. While visiting them in Winterfell, his uncle was a paragon, but here beyond the wall, Jon could say this was his uncle's real self, wild, free, and unhinge. _‘Like the Wildlings you hunt and claim to be your enemies.’_ The Wildlings, now there was a thought that kept him awake. Ever since learning about the true threat, the Wildlings have been in the forefront of his mind, knowing not only would they be the Others first victims, but also their soldiers.

“It’s been months since I last was here. I do not know the path.” Benjen’s voice returns Jon back to the present.

“Worry not uncle.” Jon answers back, for I know the path to take. Not giving Benjen the time to question him, Jon began walking by taking the path heading right, leaving Benjen no choice but to follow.

Jon expertly traverses the many corridors, not once stopping, always knowing where to turn when the path diverges. All the while, Benjen follows behind, watching for any sign of danger.

Near fifteen minutes of walking, a bright light could be seen, and in less than two minutes, man and child entered the throne like room to stand before the Three Eyed Crow.

Standing in front of the Three Eyed Crow, man and child face each other for the first time since they first met in the dream realm.

_‘So this is him huh? Strange...the way he spoke of his true form to me, I thought it would be a grotesque thing of nightmares.’_

“Do I scare you child?” Questions the Crow in his raspy voice.

Jon did not answer the Crow, instead he began walking back and forth, eyes taking the Crow’s form and everything else in the room. Once done, Jon returns in front of the Crow. Eyes lock, a smile on his young face, he moves forward and grasps the Crow’s hand to shake. “Good to meet you Crow, and I thank you for the help you’ve given me, and the help you’ve yet to give.”

The Crow and the others were surprised by such a simplistic welcome from the young child.

“Is that all you have to say?” Pondered the Crow.

“Should I have said more?” Queried Jon.

“Well yes.” The Crow was quick to respond. “You’re not even curious on how I got this way?” The Crow waves to his form. “Or who I am?”

“Oh I am!” Jon answers back. “But I believe you’ll tell me on your own time, and I am in need of sleep at the moment.”

The Crow and the others were surprised by such a turn of events. None thought the boy would be so confident in such a foreign environment.

“Very well then young one, follow the lights, and it shall take you to your bedding area.”

With a nod of thanks to the crow, Jon turns to his uncle. “Come see me before you depart uncle.” Said the boy, not knowing Benjen would be staying back for a few nights.

“Of course.” Those were the only words Benjen was able to speak aloud before Jon turned and exited the room.

Jon passed out and fell to slumber on the warm furs the second his head hit the ground, letting the adults worry about tomorrow.

_**The Three Eyed Crow** _

As soon as Jon leaves, the Three Eyed Crow watches as one of the Children and Ash enters from the shadows and joins them. It would seem the other Children either didn’t care enough to join, since the common tongue would be spoken, or curious about watching the young King instead of joining the talk.

“That… was something,” began Ash, breaking the silence that befell them. The Crow could see the outright happiness and giddiness he tried so hard to hide from the others, and hide it well he did.

_‘Then again, if it was not me, surely I shall have it miss it.’_

“Such confidence in one so young” continues Ash. “It seems Eddard’s folly in naming him Snow did not hinder his confidence completely.”

The Crow watches as Benjen flinches ever so slightly when his brother's name is mentioned. _‘Oh, and how wrong you are young one, for this is naught but a facade the young King is putting on for us. He is as scared as a kitten, and in your glee, you have failed to see something so bluntly obvious.’_

“Well then,” Benjen clasp his hands together, shall we begin?

The Crow looked at Benjen, the same emptiness on his face. _‘Changing the subject of the boy’s name I see. Clever Benjen Stark, but maybe you should not have abandoned him by joining the Night Watch, and left him alone to fend for himself, especially after learning whose son he truly was.’_

As much as the Crow desired to set the two straight, he held his tongue. For it was far easier to manipulate the two to do his biddings by letting them believe what they wished to believe.

“Not yet” the Crow answered instead in his raspy voice, bringing their full attention to himself. “For we have one more to wait for.” And before questions could be asked, a small raven flew in the room and perched itself on a branch near the Crow. Eying the raven, a small smile entered the Crow's lips.

“Let us begin," says the Crow.

“Did you not just say we are to wait for another?” Benjen pondered aloud. The Crow watches as he eyed both the man and the Children in the room. Especially the other man, for they have yet to officially meet, and the Crow felt it a waste of time of introductions, when both knew their parts in this game they were chosen to play, and knowing each other serves no purpose.

“Aye I did Benjen Stark, and here he is, perch on my branches.” The Crow answered Benjen, instead of letting his true thoughts known.

“The raven?” Queried Benjen.

As Benjen opened his mouth to say more, Ash put forth his own query.

“You did not tell us there were others in our circle” Ash exclaimed with a frown on his face. A look from the Crow to Ash stopped him from mentioning the others already in the circle.

“Oh! Did you believe just you two would be enough, not only to teach the young King, but to protect him?” The Crow left out a humorless laugh, his one eye hard. “The hubris of you boy!” The word boy was full of derision, and as the Crow went to say more, his one eye caught the look from the lone Children within their group, and he instead chose a different route, for he still needed those two in training the young King.

“Both of you are powerful in your own rights, but do not let your pride fool you. “Each one of us” —the Crow’s one red eye swept and landed on each individual in the room— “brings something unique to the young King. You Ash,” the Crow begins by pointing his bony index finger at said man, “brings your blade and sword skills.” The Crow then transitioned to Benjen. “While you, Benjen Stark, bring your familial ties and survival skills to the young King. Whereas the Children bring the knowledge of the forest with them, and our friend here,” the Crow points to the raven, “brings his knowledge and the Wall. So put your pride away, not for your own sake, but the sake of the Young King and the survival of the realm, if we desire both to survive this coming storm.”

Silence reigns among the ragtag group, and the Crow watches the different emotions of both men, even the raven perched on his branch could not help but flutter his wings about. The only one that showed no emotions was the Children. After a long beat of silence, it was Benjen that broke the silent.

“One thing has perplexed me Crow?” Begins Benjen. “Why is Jon so tired? And I do not mean as in lacking sleep, but more so as his movement being sluggish.” The Crow spies the look of eagerness of both men, waiting for an answer. While Benjen was eager and open, Ash was closed off and standoffish, pretending he was not as interested in the answer.

“Ah Yes, That Is simple you see. The young King is a child born from two of the oldest houses in all of the known realm. Two houses who’s lineage swam in magic, and interacting with me, had slowly opened that closed door, awakening the magic in his blood. But once he crosses the wall, an ephedefis of magic that has stood for millennia, has forced the door wide open, releasing his magic. His body is not yet used to such an amount of magic, so that is why he appears sluggish to you, and seeing through that small amount of illusion adds more strain to his small body. Especially for a boy who’s never used magic before”.

“Will Jon be fine?” Question Benjen with a worried look on his face.

“Worry not” the Crow was quick to relieve him of his fears. “All that’s required are a few hours of sleep, and on the morrow, he should be fine as rain.”

The Crow watches as Benjen and Ash visibly relax after his explanation, and the raven flutters its wings in happiness. The only one whose mood did not change was the Children. For she already knew the reasons why.

After the explanation, the meeting began. Disagreements it seems, we’re the only thing that could be agreed upon. On and on, they went on-with the raven watching, head cocked to one side, while the Children watched on, never saying anything.

The only time the two men joined forces was when the ‘trial’ the young King had to undergo was mentioned, and the likelihood of death if he was not strong enough in body, mind, and spirit.

“Absolutely not!” Benjen exclaimed while jumping to his feet on a defensive stance, ready to lash out at all in the room. “I won’t allow it.”

“I agree with Benjen,” continues Ash in a more relaxed tone. Nevertheless, his defenses are just as alert as Benjen. “Putting his life in danger with this so-called ‘trial’ was never part of the equation” finished Ash.

“Exactly!” Benjen continues off. “I will not sacrifice my nephew in some useless trial that might work. The deal was to train him, to get him ready, not to endanger his life needlessly.”

“Foolish!” The Crow hisses. “With Just those words alone, the room became saturated with magic, and a kind of bloodlust the two have never felt, and both men felt the changes instantly, and the hair in the back of their neck stood on end. Their instinct, telling them to run, to hide. It was only their years of fighting that helped.

“Enough of this foolishness from you two!” The Crow hisses again, his one red eye glowing ever brighter, and the tree attached to him begins to twist and turn with his rage at the two humans in front of him. The branches twisting, as if ready to strike them where they stood.

“Did you two believe your training alone was all that required to save the realm from the Others!? The Old Gods did not unravel the threads of fate just so it can be squandered off so easily.”

Before the Crow could continue, they were interrupted by the young King’s presence, still dressed in his furs, still sleep deprived if his yawning was an indication. Yet at the same time all could see the fire behind his eyes.

“Should I not be part of any discussion regarding my wellbeing?” he begins, making his way to their circle. Then the Crow watches as his eyes take in the two new presence, first taking in Ash. Even moving forward and exchanging words with him, words that floored the man in stupor before he regained his bearings and answered Jon back.

Then a look of awe enters his eyes when the lone Children is spotted. The boy stood frozen, eyes locked with the mythical being before coming back to himself and addressing the assembly, only to be interrupted by Benjen Stark.

“Listen Jon.” Interrupted Benjen. “I brought you here to be trained, to be ready,” Benjen then cast a heat-full glare at the Crow, “not to needlessly be killed from some useless trial... If the Crow told me of said trial, I would never agree.” He hisses, shooting the Crow another look.

“Not your decision uncle!” Jon fired back. So much was the confidence, strength and determination behind the words, Benjen was taken by surprise, and silent was all he could muster. The Crow eye the Children, and he could see the laughter dancing in her eyes, even if she showed no other emotions, the Crow knew she was happy with the boy’s fire.

“This is my decision,” he continued. “The Crow and I have already spoken of the trials I am to undertake, and I’ve long accepted the consequences.”

“But... you might die.” Those were the only words Benjen could muster to utter out loud after Jon’s words. Walking and standing in front of his Uncle. Jon grasps his larger hands in his smaller ones.

“Listen uncle,” and all the occupants listened as the roles were reversed. Instead of a man grown soothing a child, it was the child soothing said man, and the Crow realizes, Jon words were for all. “This uncle is the path I have chosen, long before the Crow spoke to you, my mind was made, and I’ll not go back on the vows I made in front of the heart tree just because death plays a part.”

Turning and facing the Crow, Jon pierces him and the rest with a look, lingering on the raven for but a second as if sensing the presence residing within, then returning to him. “Where and when do the trials take place?”

“On the morrow young one.” The Crow answered, not knowing what else to say.

“Very well then,” said Jon. “Then I suggest we all rest.” Not waiting for a reply, all in the room watches as the boy turns and returns to his sleeping quarters.

The Crow could not hide the smile that made its way to his face, nor the glee shining in his lone red eye. The raven caw once, twice, unfurls his wings and takes off, and just like that, the spell is broken, and the Crow watches as both men sulks to their desired sleeping quarters in the cave, for nothing else needs to be said.

“What do you think?” The Crow questions the Children once alone.

“He is something else,” she answers with a smile. “He surprises me,” she continued. “I thought he would be scared once he saw us. Yet he stayed calm, with only a look of awe in his eyes. He is truly remarkable” she finishes.

“Aye” was the Three Eyed Crow’s answer, for he had nothing left to say after the display the boy put on for them.

_**Ash The Unbroken Blade** _

He watches from the darkness of the cave as the young King greeted the Three Eyed Crow. Even going so far as to grasp his wrinkle hand on his own, and not once did he show any fear. He would omit this truth to few men, but the first few months he was here amongst the Children and Crow, his skin crawled everytime he laid eyes upon them. A reaction he hated himself for. For it was the Crow and his companions that saved him and his two brothers. For it was the Crow that gave his brothers and him a chance to right the wrongs that befell their liege. Even knowing the Crow was using him for his own ends, he still felt shame, and he knew that the Crow knew, if the small smile on his face when they interact was an indication.

He watched as the child strode away with confidence seeing only in a few men, even less than a boy of nine. He pretended to miss Benjen Stark flinching when queried about the boys statues as a bastard. It took him nearly nine full years to accept the bastard status of the young King himself.

_‘Nay, I just learned to hide my loathing better from others. Nine full years of the Crows drilling it unto him.’_ He remembered the Crows' words as clear as day.

“How can you protect the young King, let alone his autonomy when you can’t even control your own emotions? Know this well child,” the Crow had continued. “Others shall refer to him as a bastard in your presence, and if you cannot control your emotions when that time comes, you might as well kill him yourself!”

And as much as Ash had refused to believe him, he knew the Crow spoke true. _‘He always speaks true-when it serves him that is.’_

Then he learned of the trials. Trials, according to the Crow, might end up killing the young King even before his journey could begin, and for the first time in a long time since awakening, he found himself agreeing with a Stark of all people. And as much as he loath to admit, he knew Benjen loved the boy as if he were his.

Then he felt it, the bloodlust, the rage, all coming from the crow, and for the second time since his awakening he felt true fear. A man of his calibers, a man that survived battles that were said to have been impossible.  
When he believed he couldn’t take much, the young King made its presence known. Watching the young King march toward the Crow, the confidence still in him, made him smile.

_‘Maybe, just maybe you can survive these coming trials after all.’_

His grin became even bigger the more he heard from his young King, and the way he interacted with him.

_**The Bastard Beyond The Wall** _

After acknowledging the Crow, Jon turns in for the night. Ever since reaching the wall, he’s been feeling more tired than usual, and crossing said wall seems to have drained him even more, but his tiredness took on a new level when he came in contact with the spell when he entered the Crow’s territory.

So the second his body was laid out on the furs, sleep claimed him, and he began to dream.

Jon's dreams consisted of three types. Dreaming of the Night King when his mind we’re in turmoil. Dreaming of his families and playing with his siblings in Winterfell when his mind was at ease. Then there was the third...the third he could never truly explain. In that state, he dreams of two girls. Both girls are always covered in darkness. How he knew they were girls when they were no sound eluded him, but he knew in his heart and soul both were female. The dreams were always the same, both taking hold of his hands, dragging him to play with them, and even with the darkness covering them, he could always make out their beautiful smiles and lilac eyes.

Just like before, as the dream continues to play, it slowly changes into a nightmare. The nightmare always begins with the two turning from him, hands raised toward the night skies, watching as fire began raining down from the heavens, destroying all in its path. The destruction was both beautiful and ugly, and as the fire surrounded them, kissing their skin, all he felt was warmth from the flames, and he swore he saw matching smiles from the two once they turned towards him. And as Jon reaches to touch them, the dream ends.

Jon awoke, sweating from head to toe, feeling uncomfortable in his sweat drenched clothes and furs. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Jon’s thoughts are still on the dream. ‘Who are you?’ Ran through his mind. ‘I dreamt of you two even before the Crow came to me. Must I search for you two? And if I must, when will I have the time.’ Before more could be contemplated, Jon felt the magic and bloodlust in the air. Though Jon believed they were not aimed at him, he was near paralyze. ‘Feels like the Night King in the dreams.’ The second it lessened, Jon jumped to his feet and made his way to the Crow’s throne room. He made it just in time to hear the last of the Crow’s speech, and the mention of the trials.

“Should I not be consulted when matters pertaining to me?” He questioned while striding to the Crow. Not wasting time, Jon made it to the circle, forcing all eyes on him. All the while, Jon eyes roams the room, taking the inhabitants, first stopping on the unknown man for a heartbeat, but that one look told him much about the man.

The man, like his uncle, was dressed in all black, from head to toe. Extra fur upon his person to hold the cold at bay. ‘You’re not a man of the North, for no true Northman would cover themselves in so many layers in a place this warm. Yet you are in the Crows inner circle. Weird.’ With hairs as black as night, with a chisel jaw some might call handsome, and piercing eyes that Jon felt uncomfortable upon him, For Jon knew of those eyes, for he saw them multiple times in Lady Catelyn’s eyes when she looked upon her children. Especially when Robb trained in the training ground, and was praised by the Master-At-Arms. Jon's eyes squinted at this. ‘Perplexing you would look upon me with those eyes, when this is the first we’ve met. What have the Crow told you of me?’ Giving a quick look to the Crow, Jon turns his attention to said man once more and spots the giant blade laying next to him in his scabbard. From a quick look, the sword looked to be a bastard sword.

“Who are you?” He ponders aloud. “The Crow never spoke of you, yet here you are.”

“I am Ash of the unbroken balde young K-one.” Jon gave him a queer look, while watching the play between the Crow and the man named Ash for his numbling of words. Leaving it alone for now, Jon continues to study him.

“Tell me,” Jon continued after a beat. “Since you are here, and you know the Crow, then you must be aware of the dangers beyond the wall.” With a nod from Ash, Jon continues on. “Then tell me, Ash of the unbroken blade, what is your role in this game of ours?”

Ash chuckled. “I am to be your teacher with the sword Jon of Winterfell.”

“Hmm” Jon hums, his right hand scratching his chin while pondering the swordsman's answer. “I see. Very well then, if you have the Crows trust, then you have mine.” Reaching forward, Jon put his hand out to shake. Jon could see the surprise on his face, for he took a few seconds before he composed himself before leaning forward and grasping Jon’s hand to shake.

Jon wanted to make one thing clear to this man, though he was giving passage to this circle by the Crow, he wanted him to know a few things, and when he went to release Jon’s hand, Jon held back two of his fingers in a tight grip and held his eyes with a burning intensity.

“The Crow trusts you, and as of now, my trust is yours Ash of the Un-broken blade, but break that trust, I shall make sure it is to be your last!”

Hand free, it took Ash a second before he could respond. “Was that a threat child? Do you truly believe you can best me in combat if I were to break said trust?” Laughter apparent and amusement lace behind his every word.

“No, It’s not a threat” Jon was quick to answer. “I am not foolish enough to believe I can best a man of your caliber, for if the Crow brought you here, your blade must be as sharp as the greatest of blades in the annals of Westeros. Though I have never heard of you till now. I say this not as a threat, but a warning to you. For if you betray us, death will be the only obstacle to stop me from making you pay.”

As Jon turns away from the Crow, his eyes spots a figure hunch near the tree the Crow resides in, and from what the Crow shared with him, this could only be one of the Children of the Forest. He felt awe, then schock when said creature locked eyes with him. After he regains his bearings he turns to the assembly, only to be interrupted by his uncle.

“Listen Jon,” began Benjen. “I just found out about said trials, not only is it dangerous, but the Crow has just now made it known of the dangers that come with it.”

“You shouldn’t fret so much uncle, smile Jon, giving Benjen his undivided attention. “The Crow and I have spoken many times of the trials, and I know of the risk, and it is a risk I am willing to take.”  
“It’s too dangerous!” Benjen exclaimed. “There must be another way to help then to take such a risk.”

Jon sat down on the ground cross legged, forcing the others to do the same. He took a relaxed pose, elbows on his knees, chin rested on his close fist while pondering.

“We’ve all seen the might of the Night King” he begins. “He possesses powerful Magics, to go against him with only half arse resolve would be a big folly on our parts.” Jon raises his left hand to halt his uncle's interruption. “Make no mistake uncle, I know you fear for my life, and I am blessed to know the love you hold for me.”

“Then don’t do this” Benjen was quick to capitalize.

“Make no mistake uncle,” Jon continues on as if he was not interrupted, “my mind has been made long ago, even before I crossed the thresholds of Winterfell. With or without your consent, I shall take the trials.”

Not giving his uncle the time to respond, Jon turns to the Children that came forward while he was talking to his uncle. Not knowing what to say to the creature, Jon held a look of wonderment on his face as he peered at the being of legends, a being small in stature, but gifted with many gifts if what old Nan said were true, and Jon had no reasons to not believe otherwise.

With a smile toward said creature, Jon extends his hand to shake, and Children after a beat reaches forward and takes his hands unto her own. Instantaneously, Jon could feel both warmth and an overabundance of magic from said being.

"I am Jon Snow of Winterfell."

Said creature only smiles back as they shook hands. Though no words came from her lips, her smile was enough for Jon, for he could tell her smile to be genuine.

“When can we begin the trials?” Jon questions after releasing the small creatures hand..

“Once the sun rises one young,” the crow answers back. “For now, go and rest and replenish your strength, for you shall need it.”

Jon nodded and returned back to his sleeping quarters, where he slept peacefully, and no new dreams came forth.

Come morning, Jon awoke, feeling well rested and overabundance of energy in his small form. Washing his face in the basin filled with warm water, and pissing in one of the corners. ‘Probably shouldn’t piss where I am to sleep for the inevitable future. Should have remembered to ask the Crow that last night’ thought Jon as he made his way to the Crow’s room.

All those present from last night were assembled before the Crow now, with Jon being the last to appear.  
Jon was greeted with a strained smile from his uncle, and frowns from the others. Not giving any more thoughts, Jon made his way to sit in the open spot next to his uncle, facing the Crow.

Quiet and stillness was all Jon was met with, and it was annoying. Even being far more developed mentally than most children his age, a child he was still, and Jon hated the quiet. And as he went to speak to break the awkward silence, the Crow intercepted him.

“As you know young one, the trials are life altering, and they are not to be taken lightly, once we begin, there is no turning back.”

“I know of this already Crow.” Jon answers back, body rigid, arms crossed, and a frown upon his face in annoyance. “Why is it now that I am being questioned about my convictions!? If you believed me not ready”. —this time Jon jumps to his feet and begins to pace back and forth, annoyance in his every words, anger rolling off him— “then why bring me here huh!? Why come to me? Why make me believe I could make a change if now that I stand before you, all your words are, —this time, Jon pointed first to his uncle, then spun and pointed to the crow— “are trying to change my mind!?”

Jon seethe where he stood, only to fall on his arse after his rant, with no energy left in his small bones.

“You pass,” the Crow answers with a small smile on his wrinkly face.

“Huh!?” was all Jon was able to let out. For words failed him at the moment.

“Know this young one,” the Crow begins. The trials you are to take are a set of four tests. This first one, was the Choice.”

“Huh!?” The boy exclaimed again. It seems he was the only one left out of the joke, for looking in the faces of the adults, none show any surprise by the Crow's words, with the one name Ash even smirking at him. The Crow himself let out a chuckle, only to reign it in once Jon fixed him with a glare.

“The Choice young one,”began the Crow once Jon settled down, “must be willingly taken by the chosen user, with no outside influences.”

“I see.” Said Jon, and he truly did understand. For what good would it do if he were forced into this.

“What is the second test then?”

“Patience one young. The choice is only half of the first test. Now that you have willingly chosen to partake, there are other criteria you must follow.” Look, pointed the crow. Jon follows the Crow’s fingers to a corner of the cave. There on the ground was a small garden, Jon was surprised he failed to see the garden last night, and this morning. Said garden was in full bloom, filled with different types of mushrooms, mosses, and a variety of herbs that were foreign to Jon, and they all varied in shapes and colors.

“According to the Old Gods,” the Crow continues. “These ingredients must be digested in raw form by the candidate of the trials. So for the next year, those grown ingredients shall be part of your main source of nourishment. I shall be your guide in teaching you on the level of dosage to eat, and when to eat them. The digesting of said ingredients” continues the Crow, “and combining it with vigorous training shall accelerate your muscle growth, your digestion, and overall improve the body’s general condition, turning you into a ferocious and mighty warrior.”

Excitement flowed through Jon's body hearing that. Wanting to begin, Jon made his way to the garden, and as he bent to pick a mushroom, the Crow’s hard tone stopped him in his tracks. Jon turns back to the Crow, and is surprised by the intensity in his one red eye. “Know this young one, a gift such as this seldom comes without a price. Either equal, or greater value payments are required…”

“I see,” answers Jon. “What are the prices that must be paid then.”

“The price for this gift is that the liver and heart often fail, your mind sometimes too, resulting in excessive aggressions. If neither one fails, then you shall be in constant pain, so much pain that there will be days you would not even be able to do anything but lay in your bed.” The Crow then went quiet, and Jon could tell he wanted to say more, for looking on the face of the others in the room, he could see the sorrow on their faces.

“What else Crow?” Ask Jon. “You must as well say all that is needed to say, for my mind is already set.”

"Death…” the words left the Crow’s thin wrinkling lips in a whisper that echoed in the room.

No one said a word, waiting to see what the boy would do. Jon locks eyes with all in the room. Each, with varying emotions playing in their eyes, but all holding sympathy for him. Mind made up, Jon turns and plucks a green mushroom, a pile of moss and some herbs. Turning around to face them. Jon spoke with a smile on his face while raising the said ingredients to his lips.

“Let the games begin.” And with that, he bit into the mushroom, and a whole new world was made available to the young child.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 done. I had trouble writing the last part of this chapter, since i was trying to show the different perspective of each individuals, and how they saw Jon, and how Jon himself interacted with them. But the hardest part to write was the Children since in Cannon, i believe it was Bran that gave them names since they could't pronounce their true names. That's why it came off looking clunky to me when Jon and the one that meant to Leaf interacted. Even with her not talking, i had to delete it multiple times, and that's also why the chapter was late.
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys like the chapter, and i welcome all constructive criticism, especially if it helps me to become a better story teller.
> 
> Till then, see you guys next month.


	7. The Trial Of The Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon continues his training with his teachers. Jon after learning of the past, his faith in the Old Gods waivers, and Jon begins the second trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 7, sorry it took so long to release. I wanted to release a chapter a month, but it seems real life decided to be a bitch and told me no. So I was like okay...
> 
> Keep this in mind as you read, you might see different reactions or thoughts to the same actions. Reasons why that is, it's because they are from different perspective, and each characters are bias to a point. 
> 
> Positive reviews on how to improve the story or generally asking questions are welcome. Being a dick just to be a dick will be ignore.

_**A Song Of Wolves And Dragons** _   
_**HouseOfEl**_

* * *

_**VII** _   
_**The Trial Of The Grass** _

* * *

_**Ash The Unbroken Blade** _

“Come now Jon, is that all you’ve got?” Ash questioned while casually blocking a downward strike from the boy. “Truly disappointing boy” he continues on. A blow to his right side was again blocked. Ash continued the taunts-and if anyone else were to bare witness, they would all say glee was the emotion he showed most-while rage and frustrations were the boy.

“I once thought there was potential in you when we first began our training” —a low strike was once more block— “was surely wrong” Ash finished with a smirk. Training sword rested casually on his right shoulder, breathing coming in small little huff than normal due not to exertion, but for the amount of taunting and hours they've been training, it was accompanied with a small amount beads of sweat clinging to his forehead from the exertions, so small they would be call nonexistent, while his ward was near dead form exhaustions.

Ash looked down at his ward on one knee, his sword planted on the ground keeping himself elevated, lest he fell on his face. Breathing ragged, copiously sweating in his clothes, and yet the fire in the boy’s eyes were still present, brighter than ever before, and if he could compare the fires that burns within his ward with any unworldly names, it would be that of a comet that streaks the night sky, both illuminating and shielding its allies with its fires. While for its enemies, it spelled nothing but doom and death. Thoughts that brought a shiver of excitement through him.

A manic feeling of triumph rose in his chest witnessing his ward emotions lay bare before him. Ash watches as the boy struggles to get up on his shaky legs. Once he was up, he grasped his training sword with both hands, legs apart, crouching low to the ground, eyes focused on him. Ash smirked to himself as he watched as Jon took successive short breaths to steady his body from both the shaking, and fatigue. Breathing training taught to him by his many teachers.

_‘Good my King’'_ though Ash in excitement. Though his visage stayed partial in training, minus his shrewd grins and according to Jon, his evil laugh while torturing him-naught but exaggeration on his wards parts if you ask him-on the inside he was belated.

_‘Never forget your training, not even in the heat of combat and with your life on the line!’_ Taking one long pull, and releasing it slowly, Ash watches as the boy takes control of his body, forcing the shaking to stop.

_‘Good… Now, what shall be your next move my King?’_

_‘Maybe some taunting is needed to bring forth more of your fire.’_ Ash gleefully though after Jon refused to say anything, or make a move.

“Look at this boy,” Ash swiped his left hand on his forehead, showing Jon his dry hand. “You have yet to make me sweat.” Ash didn’t have to wait long for his ward to fire back his quick and witty response.

“Oh I’ll make you sweat you arse!” Jon gritted out. A laugh escaped from Ash’s mouth. According to Jon, one of his so called evil laughs. “Not with those moves you won’t he continues to taunt.”

“You're my teacher!” Jon gritted out. Then a smirk entered the boy visage. “If I'm not making you sweat in our training, maybe it's because you suck at teaching! Ever thought of that you arse?!"

Ash couldn't help but let out a great laugh that shook his whole body. “Maybe it's not not my lack of teaching boy, it might just mean you suck when it comes to the blade. Maybe this is the farthest you can reach when it comes to the art of swordsmanship.” Ash continued the taunts with a grin on his face.

Ash watches as Jon eyes darken. Rage over taking him. Ash could have sworn, his dark grey eyes turn pure black...and with a roar, Jon rushes forward.

_‘Ah... there it is, that rage you hide so well, but oh so easily accessible in combat... The rage all dragons carry within, ready to be unleashed upon their enemies, or worse, upon their own kin.’_ Ash frowned at that, thinking of the mad King’s madness.

Ash shook his head, placing the thoughts in the back of his mind for another day. Blade held downward casually in his right hand, Ash waited for Jon to reach him, while he continued to study him.

_‘Oh, wanting to attack my exposed side? Disappointing boy!’_ Ash casually transitions his blade from his right hand to his left hand. _‘A blind man could see your attack...what?!’_

Ash watches at the last second as Jon does a complete full turn the second he sees Ash switch swords hands. It seems that was Jon’s plan from the beginning, for he performed a spin from his right foot, blade held still in both hands for extra strength. Jon brought the blade to Ash’s right side. So occupied was Ash in thinking of Jon’s so easily blocked attack, he was almost too late to transition the blade from his left side to his right.

Clunk...blade crashes upon blade in a standstill. Though the move was a surprise to Ash, it took no more than one hand and little strength to hold the boy’s blade at bay in the standstill. Ash watches the look of surprise on Jon’s face when his surprise attack fails.

_‘Do not be surprised boy, I blocked your blade only because of experience, speed...and maybe a little of warriors instinct. Anyone else without years of experience like I would have been hurting...or worse. Be proud of this level of plateau you’ve reached in less than a full year.’_

Ash said none of these out loud though, after all, he did not want his ward to think too highly of his skills, skills that elevated him above those his age, and even brand new squires, but useless against a warrior of his calibre.

“Oh!” not bad Ash taunted aloud while giving Jon a small praise. “Such great speed and versatility to be able to spin so quickly in a run. A good strategy to catch your opponents off guard” continues Ash as blades still locked together. “But it seems you're far more tired than before with that last desperation attack.”

Ash squints his eyes at Jon and leans forward a little to whisper his next words. “Now young one, it is my turn!”

The second Ash spoke those words, he watched as the boy's eyes widened and flew backward to put much needed space between them.

Now it was Ash's turn to attack. Not giving Jon the time to catch his breath like before, Ash swung left. Jon barely parried the strike. Then right, his arm rings from the force if the grimace on his face was an indicator.

All Ash allowed of Jon was to stumble backward as he forced the boy into the defensive.

“What’s wrong boy?” Ash casually stalks forward like the predator he was...still is. “Is that all you have to offer me?” Another strike, this time Jon was too slow to defend, and Ash just a bit faster. The blow just grazed his left shoulder, but the pain was near unbearable if the grimace on Jon’s were to believe.

“Are you hurt boy?” Ash taunted. —He knew the boy was hurt, for he purposely went for his shoulder. He purposely made contact, for he believes training without actual pain was useless. A man raised as a warrior needed to experience pain in training to ready them for real life combat. So Ash made it a point to hurt Jon whenever they trained—-

Jon gritted his teeth, not willing to give Ash the satisfaction of crying out in pain. “Oh! holding on to your pain my boy. Good, never let your enemy know how much you’re hurting, even on the verge of dying, for they will use said weakness to overwhelm you.” Ash spoke out loud to Jon.

Another strike from Ash pushed the boy even further back, then another one, and another. For each strike Ash unleashed on his ward, a verbal lesson was quick to follow.

Jon, just a boy that destiny, or fate, depending on whom you ask was force to grow up far too quickly for his own good, answers Ash the same way he always does once, according to the boy when Ash went off on one of his long winded bore fest sermons with a mere sucking off his teeth. And as always, Ash, a man full grown, a man baptized in discipline since he was a mere boy never failed to lose his temper with the boy's answer.

A vein could be seen on Ash's forehead that continues to grow with every passing second, then his left eye would twitch ever so slightly, while a full smile as long as the Wall itself can be seen on Jon’s face.

“You think this is funny huh boy!?” Ash questions. Now it was Ash’s turn to smile when he saw the fear in his wards face. “Deal with this then! Let’s see that smile once I add a little more speed and strengths to my attacks.”

Jon's eyes widened when Ash charged forward with a lunge directed to his chest. So fast was Ash, that Jon could barely act fast enough. The only reason he was able to raise his blade fast enough to dodge was only from mere instincts. Instincts horne from his daily beatings from both Ash and the Children’s training sessions. So strong was the strike, it took Jon using both his hands to brace his blade, anything less, his guard would have shattered, and still, he slid backward a few good inches.

“Good one boy,” Ash smirked while watching Jon skids backward. “Now defend this!”

Before Jon could even process the strength and speed behind the attack, Ash in one flawless movement grasped the pummel with his left hand, and striked from the left. Once more Jon was pushed the opposite way. Still regaining his balance, he was slow to dodge, and paid for it with his left thigh taking the brunt of the strike. And just as fast, Ash switches to his right hand, and strikes once more for his thigh. Only too late did the boy realize it was but a faint. The strike hit his left shoulder hard, the same shoulder that throb in pain ever since Ash strike hit previously. So much was the pain, the boy could do nothing but fall to one knee, and eyes growing watery from the pain.

Ash looked down upon his ward with pride in his eyes. For even in the midst of defeat, his eyes still burned with fire in them, courage, and yes, the ever present rage. A rage barely held back with invisible strings ready to tear on moment’s notice. A rage the boy has been holding back on for far too long. A rage Ash wishes to see unleash, and teaches the boy to truly control.

_‘This I must broach the Crow about. We must find a way to unleash, and control it, lest he loses himself in the rage in actual combat.’_

With a sinister looking smile upon his face, Ash raises his blade upward, and strikes down with minimal strength. True he wishes to push the boy beyond his limits, using his full strength to maim the boy so early on in life, would be truly counterproductive.

He watches with glee as the boy eyes widen knowing what is to take place, as the rage takes over, and on instincts forces strength into his arms to parry the strike.

Clunk...the sound echoed throughout the throne room. But in the end, Jon lost all strength, and Ash was able to push him down, and easily disarmed him.

“Do you yield?” Ash questions with the blade upon Jon’s throat. Only seconds later bellowed a great big laugh from the pout on Jon’s face.

"I lost again?! damn it!" Grumble Jon.

Grasping and pulling Jon and setting him down on wobbly legs as if he weighed nothing. “You are the only child I know that pouts from losing a duel against a full grown man.”

“And how many children have you trained?” Jon fired back, pout still on his face. Ash couldn’t help but to mess with the boy’s wild hair, making it even more untamed. With hair sticking everywhere, an old memory of time past hit him-of him as a young man training and losing, and having his hair being ruffled-Crushing the old memory away, lest it took hold and not release him, he pats his ward’s head as a way to tether himself down. But it was proven futile, for more memory came. This time on the Red Keep’s training ground. The two of them are sweating and laughing without a care in the world while their training blades clash against each other. The two not fully grown into themselves, and a friendship like none other is being forged.

“You okay?” He heard Jon ask.

Coming back to the present, he saw the worry in his wards' eyes. Though different shades, the way they pierced him were remanences of those two.

It took Ash a second more to return to himself. Once more, Ash shook his head to shake the demons away, and with a deep breath, Ash centered himself once more.

“Do not be cross Jon, you are still a boy. One day I promise you this, you shall stand shoulder to shoulder with me, and I’ll not defeat you so easily.”

Jon narrows his eyes, and before he could say anything else, Ash pushes him away. “Go and break your fast and once the sun fully rises, find Leaf for your next lessons.”

“Urg!” Jon made a face full of disgust. “I hate eating those things, the only taste they carry is naught but vile bitter taste.”

“Bitter they may be” answers Ash, a serious look on his face, posture rigid, “they are instrumental to your trials. Remember the Crows words Jon, you must eat them all, for your body must intake a year's worth of the herbs so you can be prepared for the next trial that is to come.”

Jon’s rebuke was interrupted by the gravelly voice of their host. “That is correct young one.” Turning, man and boy face the Crow, seating on his throne, piercing them both with his red eye.

Ash was still surprised whenever he lay eyes on this being known as the Crow and The Children Of The Forest. ‘To think a being like that could exist, then again, ten years ago I didn’t believe in mythical creatures ready to end all of mankind.’

“Yeah, yeah” was the boy's sarcastic response.

Ash sent a piercing glare toward his young wards lazy reply, the same piercing glare that were known to have stopped many a warriors in their tracks both on and off the field of combat, yet the boy showed no sign of cowering, all he did were to send Ash a toothy grin, and a “what” as a response, and a lazy shoulder shrugs.

_‘How far you’ve come my boy. A few moons ago, you would have dropped your eyes and slump your shoulders. But now,’_ a chuckle escaped Ash’s lips without his knowing. Only realizing it when Jon questioned him.

“Now, begone with you boy,” Ash said in jest.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah” Jon grumbled once more while limping away. Ash watches as he tries and fails fixing his unruly hair, and massaging the shoulder he struck in their training. _‘You have truly come a long way in a short amount of time my King.’_

Ash reverie was interrupted by the Crow making his presence known once more.

Ash turned and faced the Crow, and once more he was surprised how still the beings that lay intertwined within the tree were. “If I didn't know better, I would have thought you nothing but a dead carcass Crow, for how silent you are.”

The crow let out nothing but a small chuckle in response, knowing Ash met it in nothing but jest. A jest shared, though not friends, but amongst two individuals who shares a common goal. For even to this day, Ash still did not know his true name, and the Crow have yet to divulge said facts. Even worse, Ash silently steamed inside, doing his best to mask his emotions was the fact that the Crow has yet to tell him the young King’s true name. How Ash hated not knowing.

“What vexes you so?” Question the Crow.

“Tsk” Ash sucks in his teeth while making his way to one of the giant tree trunks that fills the throne like room, and taking a seat. —A name given by their ward. The boy even went so far as to claim that the Crow was like a King seating high on his throne and looking down at his subjects when they converse with him—

The irony was not lost on the two of them when the boy spoke those words out loud. Taking a seat and making himself comfortable, Ash took his time pulling out his water skin and quenching his thirst.

“How was his training?” Began the Crow, after Ash puts away his water skin.

“Why ask questions to answers you already know?” Ash answers back with a raised eyebrow.

The Crow’s answers were a mere scoff and a lightness to his voice that Ash would be the first to admit surprising him. Then again, until his ward showed up here to train, he was nothing but a mere avenger wanting nothing but revenge against those who betrayed them —-he was still an avenger, and the traitors will die sooner or later, but now, revenge were not his only constant thoughts, for now, the raising of his ward came first, everything else second. Revenge against their enemies, and even the survival of the realm was put aside—-

His thoughts were broken when the Crow continued. “Watching and holding a sword for the physical training aspect are two different things.”

“Aye, it is.” Ash answers after taking another swig of water.

_**The Children Of The Forest** _

“Come now Jon, faster” spoke Leaf in the brokenly in the common tongue. “Your movements must be far more fluid than this. Imagine yourself as the elements themselves —-free and swift as the wind, tether to nothing, able to come and go as you please. Be the water that is shapeless, able to adapt to any form and shape. Be the thunder and lightning striking fast and swift. Stand strong like the mountains that are unmoving. Be the fire that rages and burns all in its path, uncontrollable by no one, but yourself.”

“Im...trying,” Jon grunted, his body dripping with sweat, short of breath. “I am not as flexible as you lots, and it is weird to think of myself as the elements” he grunted out.

Leaf could only chuckle. “Worry not one young, it was...what is the word you humans use? A meta…”

“A metaphor.” Help Jon.

“Yes, a metaphor.” Leaf couldn’t help answer with glee to her voice. “Now begin again.”

Jon took his stance once more, his center of gravity low to the ground, legs spread, dagger held in a reverse grip in his left hand, a short spear in his right, and he began to move.

The Children’s fighting style compared to Ash were as different as day to night. The Children were impressed the boy was able to retain both the mental and muscle memories of many styles, and to take to them so quickly.

_‘Though not adept in both styles yet, you have come far in less than a full year.’_ Leaf thought while watching the boy move.

Where Ash fighting style, though a beautiful dance of brutal powerful strikes, combined with precision, speed and defense mix into one. The children’s style thanks to their small stature relied more on precisions, speed, agility, and hit and runs. Combining their fighting styles with poison coded tip, poisons only they possessed the antidotes too, made them a force to reckon with.

Leaf watches as Jon attacks the multiple dummies. Turning and twisting, throwing different varieties of strikes with both knife and spear. Entering the dummies personal space to quickly strike with the knife, and to just as quickly move back, putting space between them, and attacking from mid-range with the spear. Never did he strike a dummy in the same place twice, and each strike dealt to the dummies were either killing blows, or blows meant to cripple.

Leaf remembered the first time the boy questioned the reasons behind coating their weapons in poisons when their enemies were beings made of ice. The look of sorrows he gave them when she explained poisons were to give them an edge in their wars against the First Men invasions into their lands resonated with her and the other Children’s on a level none thought possible. That was the turning point for them, no longer did they see training the boy to fight the Others was the sole purpose. But now, it was so for the boy to survive, to live... But most of all, to grow old, to find a mate and to spread his seeds so his legacy could live on for a thousand years if the Old Gods were good.

She watches on as the boy switches from high to mid, to low strikes, only to change the order on the next set of attacks. On and on the Children watches him, only stopping him to fix his form.

The Children watch as the boy falls to the ground panting harshly after a full hour of nonstop movement, both body and clothes drenched from sweat.

“Are we done yet?” The boy barely wheezed out.

The children could only laugh at the boy spread eagle on the ground fighting for breath.

“Come now young one, we have only begun.” Leaf chuckle. “Now you must dance with one of us.”

Jon let out a grunt filled with both pain and annoyance as he struggled to stand. Hands and legs shaking, Jon faces his opponent, with a knife held in a reverse grip in a defensive stance, and short spear raised in mid attack stance. Facing off against scales, Leaf could see, though his stand were not perfect, for a child to be so far ahead in not only handling one weapon, but two at the same time, was extraordinary… Ash, the little broken man own words.

With a roar that reverberated in the room, Jon charges against Scales with a strike from his spear. Scales was quick to side step the strike, only to raise his own spear and aim a strike at the boy's right thigh. Jon barely had time to dodge before Scales was inside his space, dagger slashing downward. Not having the time to dodges, Jon brought forth his own dagger to block, and it seems that was all Scales needed as he brought his short spear forward and strike at his ribs. So strong was the strike that Jon lost all breath in his lungs and fell to his knees, his weapons scattered around him.

“You are lucky the weapons we use in our training are naught but training blades” said Leaf from the side. “For if they were real, you would have been maim ten times over this morn-better yet, if you were not eating those herbs, you would have died in the first moon in this underground cavern and turned to food for the great tree to feed upon.”

“I don’t understand” Jon wheezed out, still on his hands and knees catching his breath. “I was only trying to land a hit.”

“Yes you were” answered Leaf, and that is the problem.

“Huh?” Jon answered, with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Sit” motioned Leaf. While Jon sat down on the ground facing Leaf, the other Children joined their small circle.

“Your problem is simple young one... you are far too aggressive in your approach.” Leaf saw the look Jon gave her, and she sigh internally. _‘I sometimes forget, unlike the rest of us, you are but a child, a child that wants the praise of others.’_ She frowns at the thought.

“All you do is attack, even when not attacking, you are attacking, you need to learn patience. Like the wolf blood that flows through you, you must learn when to attack, when to wait, and when to retreat. Scales purposely allowed his defenses to be down, just to force your hand...and you fell for it, like a lamb being led to slaughter.”

Leaf could see the rage behind his eyes, barely holding back. _‘The rage the blade wishes to unleash.’_

“Was that not why you brought me here?” Jon spoke out with a fierceness only put bare in the heat of combat. “To learn how to fight, so I can face the Others? If I do not attack, then how can I defeat them?” Jon seethe.

Leaf saw the look the other Children gave the child. It was a look full of pain and understanding-pain they all knew so well in their long life. At times like these, she hated being the only one to speak the common tongue, and since the others refused to learn —though for the boy, they made it an attempt to learn a few sentences to better communicate with him— But in the end, it was still up to her to speak to the boy, to explain, to bestow upon him their knowledge, and she hated it.

Though they’ve come to care for the young child, a part of them still wanted nothing to do with anything from those that took everything from them. Even knowing of the true enemy that resides in these lands, the pain the humans cause them linger stills, and just as strong as the icy cold that ravages these lands and never lets up, so did their rage and hatred.

_‘Huh! It seems the humans are not the only ones that could hold grudges? Maybe this is a test set by the Old Gods themselves?’_ Such revelation had her head spinning. _‘I must speak with the others of such a development.’_ Leaf looked at the other Children sitting around, all with a look of serenity and calmness to them. Something they’ve not felt in years.

Leaf’s train of thoughts were interrupted by the look on the child’s eyes. After spending nearly a year with the boy, Leaf like the other Children could tell which blood was at the forefront. Now looking in his eyes, Leaf could see the wolf blood taking over, for the boy was quiet, calm, hackles raised and ready to spring forth and destroy all that lays before him. While his dragon blood made him loud, untether, making him spring to action without a care. In the end though, both blood within him once broke free desires nothing but blood and destruction.

She, like the other Children, knew sooner, rather than later, that said rage would be unleashed, and she prayed to the Old Gods when it happened, the boy had some form of control, if not...she feared the consequences…

“Calm your mind, and close your eyes.” Leaf whispers after looking at the other Children in the room.

Jon regarded her still with a frown upon his face, but complign none the less.

“Now—-deep slow breath.” She spoke calmly. She watches as Jon follows her direction.

“Now hold that breath, feel the air in your lungs, let it calm you, let it bring you to a state of peace. Now release it, and start over.” After a few more times, Leaf stopped him.

Opening his eyes, Leaf could see the rage to have all disappear. But she knew all that was needed to bring it back up was another bout of training and him losing. Leaf remembered watching him train back in his human home, and losing to an older boy and being made fun of, how his jaw had locked in rage, his eyes nothing but slits, and his muscle flex from holding the training blade far to hard. His rage had only lessened when his brother had told the other boy to shut it.

Coming back to herself, Leaf looked at her ward. “Now young one, it is true you are being trained to fight a powerful enemy, but you must understand, just blindly attacking this enemy will lead you nowhere but to an early death.”

“Then what’s the right course of action then?” Jon pondered out loud.

“A combination of offense, defense, cunningness and so much more are required.” Leaf answer. “For the enemy possesses a near finite number of foot soldiers as long as life exists in this realm. When the time comes upon us to face our enemy, and if all you do is to blindly attack his forces, you’ll not get no less than a yard before you are dead.”

Leaf watches the emotions play behind the boy’s eyes. Fear, anxiousness, sorrow, pain and many others that were too quick to grasp. But beyond all of them, a hidden strength made itself present and took hold ‘—is that the dragon fire little Ash speaks off, or the courage of the Wolf the little Crow would claim?‘

The boy’s emotions were always like that, open and free to read, never taking offense when reprimanded, only listening, learning, adapting, and questioning. Soon, it became an unspoken vow amongst them, the Children would not teach the boy to save the realm from the darkness that resides in the true North —but instead they would instead teach, train, nurture and protect him so he could lead the realm in an era of tranquility. An era without needless deaths and sorrows, and if death were their reward to make it so, then death they will willingly accept. Never did the Children of the Forest thought they would put man before their own, but looking at the child, it was an easy dilemma. The child will survive, and if they, the Children cease to be for his sake, so be it. For they know, they will survive in his memories, and of his families.

After the talk and rest, the fight began anew.

Taking his stance, Jon charges forward once more, but this time he was far more cautious, he led with the spear far more, using his foot work to an even higher degree, even exhausted from the movements, he never stayed static for long. Leaf watches as he uses the spear as a measuring stick to tell the distance between his opponent and himself, and only relying on the knife as a last ditch effort to either block and quick strike while putting space between him in his opponents.

“Well done,” Leaf praises Jon after the fight ended. Although the boy still lost, he fared far better than before. “Now young one, I shall be your opponent.” Leaf smiles when Jon grumbles about unfairness.

Jon once told her of all the Children’s, she was the hardest to fight against. Not because she was the fastest, strongest, nor more cunning. No, It was her usage of the shield, and according to Jon, nothing he tried to bypass said shield have yet to bore fruit to his arduous labor. And since then, and to Jon’s horror, Leaf made it mandatory for the boy to fight a shielded opponent. Not stopping there, Leaf also deemed it mandatory for Jon to learn the way of shield combat as well, something the boy was slow to grasp—-if by the clumsiness she observed from him was any indication.

_‘Though he has come pretty far since he began to learn the way of shield combat.’_

Another hour passes as the Children watches the boy on his back once more, sweating and in pain—-more physical than mental. “Well done child, you did far better than before.”

“I never landed a hit on any of you guys” responded Jon. Leaf could only laugh, and after translating to the other Children, they too began to laugh. “Child,” begin Leaf… "you are naught but a child, we have lived for hundreds of years, with hundreds of years of combat under us, you should feel proud of yourself regardless if you never touch us.” Leaf watches as a tired smile lifts the boy’s face.

“Rest for now little wolf and break your midday lunch, then we shall begin anew with the crafting of bows and arrows, and the various other weapons that are to help you.” Jon groaned aloud hearing that, and the Children could only laugh out loud.

Leaf watches as Jon interacted as best as he could with the other Children, even with the language barrier being such a crutch, all were smiling. She remembered how quickly the child had taken with the Children, showing no fear of their appearances. Though the Children were indifferent to him in the beginning, only teaching him, then disappearing into the cavernous tunnels, it was not long before he won them over with his innocence and honesty.

_‘It’s a good thing we do not rely only on words to communicate. Ever since you came to us, we have laughed more in these moons than I could ever remember. I wonder if this is another reason the Gods sent you to us? To show us that happiness can be achieved still…even in the midst of all the death that surrounds us?’_ leaf thoughts were broken when Jon called to her, and with a smile on her face, she moved forward.

_**The Wolf On The Wall** _

It’s been close to a full year since he left his nephew in the care of the Crow. The first three moons were hectic to say the least, with the first week being the worst, for all three accomplished nothing of value. For every agreement they came too, it soon would be destroyed by a disagreement, and put them two steps back.

They finally came to an agreement when Jon, tired of their bickering, made his voice known. _“I am tired of your useless tirade” Jon had spoken out, voice full of fire. “All of us have a role to play, we know the enemy is out there, waiting, growing it’s army, instead of coming together, here we are bickering on what to do. Figure it out!”_ Then he pierced each with a look, turned and he had walked away from them.

After Jon had left, the three came to an agreement pretty clearly. At the time he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. For he thought he saw a small smile on the Crow’s face when Jon spoke to them. Looking back, _‘maybe this was another test set by the Crow to test Jon?’_ After all, the Crow never truly did argue with them, all he did was to inject a few words, then pulled back and allowed him and Ash to come to an understanding.

Once all was said and done, it was agreed he would take the lead for the first month of training for Jon.

So for the first month, it was him that held and cradled Jon’s feverish body when the ingredients began to take their toll on his young body. He shed tears when his nephew told him it did not hurt, just to ease his mind.

According to the Crow, the first month would be the worst of the worst, _“for his body is fighting the foreign entities, and it will take a full year before they become part of him.”_ The Crow had spoken, voice devoid of emotions. It rattled Benjen to the core, that he chose to be a part in bringing his nephew to this thing. So for that month he hardly left Jon’s side. So he stayed with his nephew, fed him, cleaned him up when he threw up, and shit himself since he was unable to control his own body. As he watched his nephew withers in his arms, becoming a skeleton, he cried more tears, he remembered second guessing his decision of ever bringing Jon to this forsaken place, only for Jon to wake up, look in his eyes and to tell him he chose this path. It’s as if his nephew knew of his plight.

He remembered waking up after sleep took him from being up for so long, to catch glances of the mysterious swordsmen and the Children watching his nephew with a mixture of love, and pain on their faces. Till this day, the swordsmen have stayed a mystery, and the Crow stayed quiet of his past.

So on and on the month went, until one day he awoke to someone shaking him. Opening his eyes, he saw Jon with a giant smile on his face looking down at him, though still skinny from eating only the special ingredients, for that was all he could digest, his body sang with energy, energy the boy needed to unleash.

So after he hugged his nephew, and shed more tears, they went and spoke to the Crow. So weak was Jon, he had to carry him.

According to the Crow, the boy will still feel pain, for he had eleven more months of ingredients to eat, but since he is now able to digest other foods as well, the pain won’t be as crippling as the first month, unless he misses a dosage.

So after a few days of rest, Benjen took over Jon’s training for the second of the month before heading back to the wall.

He began teaching Jon on how to survive in the cold baren North, what plants to eat when stranded in such vastness with no other games to survive on. How to track, create traps, where to look for shelter, and what to use to stay warm when the furs weren’t enough to stay the cold and survive the night outside.

With the Crows eyes in the skies, serving as an alarm to warn them of their enemies, both living and dead. Benjen had lead Jon outside each day, and cram as much knowledge into his ever developing mind as he could in such a small time frame given to him, and his nephew had taken all in with no complaint, only wanting to learn more. The only thing he refused even when Jon begged, were staying and sleeping outside. And Jon being Jon countered with, "how can I know how to survive a night outside if we don’t sleep outside!" Benjen remembered letting out a laugh that started from his gut, and traveled throughout his whole body before escaping his mouth.

Benjen went even further when he began to teach Jon the Night Watch swords play. Though said sword play wasn't much of a style, rather it added to the brothers already swords styles, and if they had none to begin with, it merely gave them a starting point to begin with, and it was up to the individuals to tweak it to their own personal preferences. That is why, no two black brothers fought the same when you look closely.

The style though simple, was rough if one half assed it, and the many brothers that died in less than half a year after joining were simply because they half ass their training. Benjen learned long ago, no matter how much one trains, in a life and death situation, only the instincts of survival and of training stays with you.

_‘But in the end, what good is training when you never took it seriously to begin with?’_

It was for those reasons that the Lord Commander hardly ever let a recruit with less than one full year of training under their belts outside the walls to fight the Wildlings if he could help it.

They divided their style into two parts, to make it easier for the slowest of man to learn.

The first part was built around the exclusions of heavy armors and shields for swift movements of the body to dodge attacks from all angles, and for maneuverability in the snow, since their enemies were the Wildlings, and most Wildlings hardly fought one on one battles when it comes to their supposedly mortal enemies the brotherhood. With fighting in the snow being second nature to them, it was necessary to be swift on the battlefield. Their only armor, being the boil leather they wore, not to protect from heavy attacks, but for knives and arrows.

The second part was built with the aspect of quick, accurate and fatal strikes to the enemies vital spots. Though for whatever reasons, many forgets this the second they entered battle. Instead relying on brute strength to overpowered their enemies, leading to most of their deaths thanks to carelessness and being to focus on one enemy, forgetting what they learned in the heat of combat. Most of the deaths were only amongst the new and younger recruits, with the veterans having too many combat experiences to allow such a folly to befell them.

Now with Maester Aemon’s help of convincing the old bear, training became far harsher, discipline more regulated, and in less than a year, progress could be seen. Though it was little—-little far better than none at all— And under Allister Thorne sharp eyes, though there was no love loss between him and Thorne. For Thorne till this day true loyalties still lies with the Targaryens, Benjen would not take away a man’s praise and progress to the cause, and Allister Thorne was truly deserving of praise, for under him and with Mormont’s and Maester Aemon new regiment, the green horns were becoming true man of the watch.

_‘Maybe in a few more years, and more recruits, we might once more become what the old watch once were.’_

Benjen took hold of his hood from flying off his head as a gust of wind whipped it about. Coming to the clearing, Benjen spots one of the Crows many feathered friends, and the second bird and man make eye contact, the former opens its wings and takes flight, and on his stead, Benjen galloped and followed.

While Benjen follows the bird to the Crows home, for it seems even now, with the amulet, and knowing the Crow’s home, the magic still affected him, Benjen continues to contemplate his time with Jon all those moons they spent together before leaving back for the wall.

Benjen was not foolish enough to think his experiences beyond the wall would ever exceed the Crow’s own knowledge, worse yet the Children of the Forest. Two magical beings, with one of them he thought were naught but stories told by old Nan to freight little boys and girls. So the Crow allowing him and him alone to teach Jon for that month was his way of asking for peace without saying the words themselves. While Ash, the mysterious warrior stayed silent. Though he wanted to know who he was, neither Ash nor the Crow say anymore after finally introducing him. But Benjen swore the man both knew him, and hated him to some aspect. Though he still trusted neither Crow nor man, he knew they cared for his nephew to a point they would let no harm come to him.

Leaving his nephew beyond the wall was the hardest decision in his long life. Far harder when he chose the wall all those long years ago. Now as he made his way to the Crow’s home, happiness filled him. He remembered leaving Jon behind, the pain that struck him as overwhelming as the pain when he learned of his dear sister’s death. It was Jon...a child of all things that comforted him, telling him not to worry, how they are all part of the bigger picture in the long run. How his job was to return and convince his commander to believe in the threat and better prepare the brothers, and his job was to stay beyond the wall and learn from the Crow.

Traveling back to the Wall, the first thing he did was to report to the Commander, and thanks to the Crows eyesight, he had no reasons to lie. He told the old Bear of the King Beyond The Wall, that he himself was a former brother, and what to expect. According to the Crow, not much was expected to happen yet. It seems the Wildlings themselves were staying low, only sending small groups of scouts, and not staying less than a week before reporting back to their King. Hunting was done far closer to their camps then before, not venturing any farther than a three days trek, five the most. The only ones allowed to leave for any extended period of times, were the Wildlings acting as scouts. The group was divided into three sets. The first one to act as a preliminary alarm for the White Walkers and their undead soldiers, the second one to search and capture any Black Brothers, bring them to camp, tortured them for intel, concerning both the wall and their numbers. With killing being the last result if capture were not an option. While the third group acts as an advance force in searching for a way to access the wall.

_‘It’s a good thing’_ thought Benjen, _‘that the Wildlings can’t control their bloodlust in combat, always going for the kill instead of capture. Then again, with Mance at the helm, a former brother, it won’t take long before he reels in their bloodlust, and if he manages to accomplish such a task, then we will all be truly fuck before the Others come for us.’_

Before Benjen knew it, he had arrived at the entrance to the cave. Dismounting his steed, Benjen continues to follow the crows lazy flight, only to reel himself in and hide in the shadows and watch Jon and Ash duel.

_‘Beautiful’_ Benjen thought after witnessing Jon multitude of strikes, though none hit their target, for his opponent was that great of a swordsman and his nephew were just a mere boy barely learning the way of a warrior. _‘But to come this far in less than a full year...truly beautiful my boy! Knowing who your father and mother were, both filled with latent talents, it’s no wonder you are so talented.’_

Watching and looking at Jon’s face, his mood sour and darkened, for looking at Jon’s face, and seeing him after so long, even from afar, reminded him of the letter that awaited him nearly a year ago after returning back to the Wall.

Even knowing what his brother wrote him was false, tears still came to his eyes after reading his brother's words. Words filled with pain, sorrow and sadness. In the letter, Ned not giving away anything, les the letter was to be intercepted. Ned claims he should have given Jon his name long ago. He should have made the boy feel more at home instead of a pariah. He should have interfered far more when it came to the ways his wife treated him. Knowing what Benjen knew, his heart bled for his brother. Benjen knew the day of reckoning was not far from coming to pass, and when Ned realized his part in the farce, he feared his brother may never trust him again.

_‘Why should he trust?... After all, you only abandoned him to join the Night Watch because you were too much of a coward to stand and take responsibility! You abandoned your pack when the stress became too much for you. You are nothing but a coward!’_ The dark thoughts he pushes far beneath the recess of his mind sprung forth.

So with that in mind, Benjen knew if he were to head out to Winterfell, there was a high chance his brother or someone else could have seen through his lies. The only reason Benjen believed none saw through his lies all those years ago regarding Lyanna, was simply because everyone was still reeling from his father and brothers death by the Mad King. So with Maester Aemon's help, Benjen was able to convince the Lord Commanders to pen the letter to his Lord brother that he had yet to return from beyond the wall. The explanation Benjen gave the Old Bear was simple, _“I have not the heart to return to Winterfell after so much loss.”_ Though Benjen hated using family to guile Mormont, for he knew how Mormont valued the meaning of family —after all, Mormont came to the wall for the dishonor his own flesh and blood brought to his family, he knew it had to be done—-

Sooner rather than later, Lord Mormont must learn the full truth if the brotherhood is to truly be ready for war, and knowing the Old Bear, and if the look he shot both Aemon and himself were an indication before he penned the letter to his brother, the Old Bear knew something was afoot. Yet he still wrote it for the trust Benjen knew he held for him, but more importantly…the trust he holds for Aemon. Trust that dims the longer the truth was kept from him.

_“He must know the truth!”_ Aemon had spoken to Benjen before he left for his journey.

_“Aye! Once I return from this journey of seeing Jon, we shall inform the Commander of all that has transpired, and hope he believes us.”_

Aemon had a chuckle while answering. _“Les he believes us to have gone mad from being stuck on this wall for such a long time.”_

Benjen had a chuckle as well, and answered with a simple _“Aye."_

_‘Who knew Aemon was such a jokester.’_

Returning back to the present, Benjen watches the end of their training, and Ash sending Jon to prepare for his next lesson.

Pride swells in his chest watching Jon’s fights. Benjen left the darkness and made himself known to the other two men —one man to be more exact, and the other, for a better word...an ethereal being that has been taking care of his nephew for close to a year, teaching and molding him to be the sword in the darkness that will end the eternal threat to the realm.

_**The Three Eyed Crow** _

“How was the training?” The Crow interrupted Ash’s train of thought as they watched the young King disappear.

“Tsk” was Ash's first response. “Why ask such a question when the answers are yours already?” He finishes.

Silence looms between the two, with Ash drinking from his skin to quench his thirst, while the Crow watches on with a smile on his wrinkled face.

“Pray tell what you find so funny Crow?” Accuses Ash with a frown on his face.

With his smile still in place, making his wrinkled face more sinister than ever, a noise was heard from the entrance of where they sat that stopped him from answering. The Crow was not surprised when Ash spun around, training blade at the ready to strike at any and all foe. Knowing who he was, the Crow did not for a second believe he would fail in killing any live foe, training blade or not.

Benjen made himself known, and Ash lowered his blade. After greetings were given between the three, Ash returned to his seat and began conversing with Benjen, and asking for news beyond the wall, but more importantly of King’s Landing.

The Crow watches a frown enter Benjen's face when Ash ponders the working machinations in King's Landing.

_‘It won’t be long until he discovers who stands before him, and training his nephew.’_

The Crow watches as a frown made itself known on Ash’s face when Robert Baratheon's name came up. Then for the rage to take hold when he learns the way the realm where being run.

_‘Should you really feel this way boy? Was your King not named the Mad King? And yet, did you not serve him in perpetuity?…’_

The Crow frown thinking of said man, watching the pleasures he gained from raping his sister-wife, and burning those that dared to defied him... A hard lesson learned.

The Crow shook his head to once more return to the present, for with the presence of Benjen Stark in their midst, it meant the next phases were about to begin, and he needed everyone, himself included to be in the present, with a clear level head.

With a single cough, he captured the attention of the two men before him, and looking to the darkness, he spies Leaf. The shadows themselves dancing on her form, moving as if she, their mistress of the night, hiding near all of her, protecting her from the others. With keen eyes aglow watching them all with a silence that few predators possess. _‘Most likely these two have not felt her presence yet,’_ and once their eyes met, the Crow knew Leaf was not impressed, nor was she unimpressed. For like the boy, she too knew what it meant to hate those that stole all you once held dear.

Removing herself from the shadows, the Crow had to chuckle when both Ash and Benjen nearly jumped out of their skins when she approached them. Both men shot the Crow a glare —eyes asking why he failed to warn them—-

Both men composed themselves, with Benjen being the first to break the silence. “So tell me Crow, what was so amusing to have you chuckle the way you did before I walked in?”

It was Leaf that answered the inquiry. Squatting down like the Children usually do, a mannerism their wards have taken to emulate, she begins her tale.

“The boy’s body is growing at an alarming rate, his stamina,” continue Leaf with a small proud smile on her face “has risen far faster than anticipated, so has his strength and defenses.” And with these words out in the open Leaf went silent.

The Crow, unlike the others knew, Leaf was a being of few words and to the point. According to her, “why waste time talking when it's not needed.” After a long pause of silence, with Benjen and Ash waiting for her to continue, Ash releases a sigh of annoyance, and begins to tell his own inquiry.

“His growth” began Ash —taking a moment to find the right words— “is beyond even my wildest dreams.”

The Crow watches as Ash became lost in his explanation.

“He takes to anything and everything like a fish to water, and the more he’s pushed to the brink of death the faster and better he learns.”

Nothing escaped the Crow’s eye, even when Benjen flinched when the words brink of death were uttered. So small was the flinch, anyone else would have missed it, but not him, nor Leaf.

The Crow returned his attention back to Ash. The Crow and by proxy the Children did not need any explanations, for they already knew of the changes, the explanations were more for Ash and Benjen's sake, for at the beginning, they were the naysayers after all. Even with Ash witnessing the progress, sometimes, talking out loud, and in the presence of others, makes the mind more open to accept impossible possibilities.

“What of the body then?” Ask the Crow.

“Hmm” hums Ash while running his hand through his hair. “His body is like anything I’ve seen before, I admit Crow,” Ash fixes his eyes on the Greenseer, “after everything I’ve seen, I never once believed eating those herbs, mosses and mushrooms would have such significance on one's body.

“Oh?!” Do you believe me now, young one?

“Aye, I do.” Replies Ash. Before Ash could continue, the Crow continued.

“The herbs, mushrooms and mosses he digest are not just mere plants, they were cultivated for years, and infused with many other alchemic processes, and grew thanks to the magic fed by me and the Children for ten years straight. Even now, my magic continues to feed the garden.

“What else?” Benjen was quick to ask, even before the Crow could close his mouth. The Crow could taste his happiness, wanting to know how far his nephew has come.

Ash did not answer right away, taking his time to think of his answer, and scratching his ever growing beard. After a beat of silence, he begins.

“It was the many small things really” answers Ash with a far away look in his eyes. “For instance, five months ago when he fell, he should have at the least broken his legs, but all he received were a mere sprain, a sprain that was fully healed not one day later.

The Crow watches the small and silent ebbs of nervousness coming from Benjen when he hears of his nephew’s injury —-though he once again chooses silent, and Ash not even aware of Benjen’s unease continues—-

“Then there’s him taking my hits, though not powerful to kill, yet still strong enough to leave bruises, even with proper armor in place, and since we use no armor, the hits should have hurt him far more, leave more bruises, and yet, he wakes with no bruises… just a soreness that dissipate in mere hours... and in our last fight, in the heat of things I purposely unleash far more strength than usual, and strike his left shoulder twice, with the second strong enough to shatter it, yet all it did was cause the boy pain and discomfort, and possible bruises. By the morrow, I would not be surprise that all the boy will be feeling are nothing but soreness.”

“What else have you witnessed?” The Crow questioned.

Ash once more pondered his answer.

“If I were a betting man, I would say his bone is far more denser than anyone his age, making him far stronger than anyone his age, and I believe it will continue to grow denser as he ages.” Ash once more went silent before he continued. “His speed has also shot up in all areas. His reaction speed, his running speed, his eye movements, his hand movement, with or without a sword. They are far higher than anyone his age, I would go as far as to claim them to be just at the same level of the average knights with years under their belts.”

Ash once more ran his hand through his hair, while a manic grin entered his face. Though his smile unnerved Benjen, it did nothing to phase either him or Leaf. While his next words left Benjen untethered.

“I cannot wait for him to grow into a man and be done with these trials” —A laugh escape from Ash’s mouth— “so I can truly train him without the need of holding back my true strength. I cannot wait for him to truly give me a fight where I might even end up losing! Imagine it Crow, his rage unbound, untether thanks to our training, such a magnificent sight it shall be!”

_‘It seems even a man as honorable as you have a dark side to you. Then again, I was far worse than you when I walked amongst men. Only she could quench my fires…’_ and just like that, memories of her assaulted him. Memories he forcibly pushes to the back of his mind. Memories he had no need for at the moment.

It was Leaf that brought the three back to the present with her words. “I would not celebrate yet young ones. Remember, the eating of the plants are just the beginning to the trials, young Jon has already made The Choice, keeping with his diet of the special ingredients, and grueling physical training to ready his body, though he survived, now the trial of the Grasses is next, and it shall be far more dangerous…”

The Crow watches as the words from Leaf somber both men. Even he was rendered silent, for he knew Leaf spoke truth.

_‘You shall not die my boy!’_ Those were the first thoughts that came to mind. He might not admit it aloud to anyone save the Children, but he has come to love the boy as if he were from his own loins, and he would use all of his powers to make sure he survived the next trial.

“We have a sennight to prepare him” begins the Crow, bringing the attention back on him, after Leaf’s words left an eerie silence that wanted to suffocate all with its truth. “We shall cease all forms of training, allow young Jon’s body time to rest and recover for the next phase.”

“Agreed.” Both Ash and Benjen answered, while Leaf only nodded.

_**The Bastard beyond the Wall** _

With eyes closed, and using the wall as a brace to lean on, Jon plucks the strings on his harp, bringing in a sweet but sad melody to the cavern while the Children’s, minus Leaf seats before him, and hums along.

Playing the harp always brought him a peace of mind, something he never thought possible by just playing an instrument he never had any desire to begin with.

_“What is this?”_ Jon remembered asking Ash when he was presented with the harp eight moons ago while they relaxed after a grueling bout of training.

_“It’s a harp”_ Ash had quickly answered.

Jon had shot him a look, watching the way Ash held himself, nervous energies pouring from him, with his arm extending toward him holding the beautiful harp.

_“Is he nervous?”_ Jon continues to watch Ash.

Only seconds passed before the Crow had made his own thoughts known. _“The harp is a gift to help you child.”_

_“How will a harp help me destroy the Others?”_ Jon asks with a frown on his face, turning his attention to the Crow.

This time it was Leaf that answered him. “Music soothes the soul.” She had answered in her sweet melodic voice, and ever since then, Jon had taken to the harp, even surprising himself on how much he both loved playing the instrument, and the ease with which he learned it.

As Jon plucked the strings on his harp, sending a strong note into the air, mixing with the Children’s humming that grew ever stronger, his mind turned to his three teachers ever since coming to place.

His first thoughts were of his human teacher...Ash...Or Ash of the Unbroken Blade, dubbed by the Children.

To this day, the man is still a mystery to him. He knows nothing but his name, a name that as the days goes by he came to realize was not truly his true name. More secrets he has kept hidden close to his heart, and when he questioned the Crow, all he received were _“he shall tell you all you need to know before you leave this place.”_ Jon had rolled his eyes at such an answer.

While silent and mysterious, Jon understood why the Crow chose him to be his teacher with the blade. While the swordsmen in Winterfell were good, put next to Ash, they all appear like children finally learning how to walk.

Ash proved himself the true master of the blade, but it did not end there, for Ash also drilled him all in the form of all bladed combat. True Ash mastery with the long and bastard swords were beyond anything Jon has ever witnessed with his own eyes in Winterfell, the man was proficient enough with the short sword, knives, spears and the axe that Jon knew only a master with said weapons would best him.

Ash training did not end there, for he also drilled into his head on how to command others in battle, how to be a proper leader, and how to motivate those that follow you into combat.

Opening his eyes, Jon watches as the Children continues to hum along with his playing of the harp. Smiling to himself, Jon once more closes his eyes and let his mind wander to when he first gave them names in the common tongue, for he was and still is, and unable to pronounce their true name.

When he first brought it up with Leaf, she had stayed quiet, and Jon thought he had insulted her when after conversing with the other they all turned to look at him. It was not until Leaf had smiled at him did he relax.

Though gentle, the Children were ferocious in their training. Their main weapons were the spears and shields, knives, and the bow and arrow dipped in poisons. And for every poison they created, they learned an antidote to go with it.

Living for so long and being part of the land, their survival instincts became second nature to them, their knowledge so vast, Jon believed not even the library of Winterfell would be big enough to hold their knowledge….knowledge they crammed in his head daily, knowledge Jon willingly takes in.

Cracking one eye open, Jon watches as Snowylockes dances to the tune of the harp, and the humming from the other Children. Closing his eye once more, his mind took him back to when he first learned why the Children use poisons on their weapons, and Learning the truth broke him for a while, worse yet, learning of their tragedy, his beliefs in the Old Gods began to waned for not interfering enough. Ironically, it was the Children themselves that brought him back from outright abandoning the Old Gods. Since that day, Jon vowed, though he followed the Old Gods, he would no longer be a blind follower to any Gods, and if the Gods themselves took offense to that, they could come down and plead their case to him. The Crow had frowned at that statement, the Children silent, whereas Ash had outright laughed.

So as a way to show conviction on his beliefs, he had forced the Crow to show him the tragedy of the Children through the memory of the tree, Jon with a heavy heart had composed a song to honor them. A song he called ‘lament of the Children.’

Then there was the Crow… his final teacher, the enigmatic being that opened up his mind and eyes to something far greater than himself. If Ash represented a pond in his knowledge of warfare, and the Children’s a river in both survival and warfare, The Crow represented an endless ocean of knowledge. True the Children have lived a thousand lifetime more than the Crow, the difference between them was they live, whereas the Crow has been forced to survive through the tree...and since he is unable to leave, he lives on through the dreamworld, for in that world, he is free…

It is in that dreamworld that the Crow teaches him. While Ash and the Children train his body and mind, it is in the dreamworld that the Crow pushes his spirit and soul to it’s breaking point. For everything Ash and the Children teaches Jon, he is made to replicate it all in the dreamworld under the Crow’s eye flawlessly.

In the dreamworld Jon came to realize that time flowed on the behest of the Crow. He could be in the dreamworld for a full month, but with just mere hours having passed in the waking world. So whenever he sleeps, the Crow trains him, hones his mind, teaches him his letters and numbers, and when he wakes, makes him write all he read down… and once paper and ink ran dry, he was made to use the dirt and a stick.

The Crow also shared the knowledge of forging all kinds of weapons. Though an apprentice in forging in the dreamworld, he was no more than a novice in the real world since the cave held no forge for him to practice in.

On and on the Crow taught him, until the day the Crow began to teach him the ability to manipulate others to carry out his will without them knowing. When he refused, the Crow shocked him by revealing his true self as none other than Brandon Rivers...one of his heroes. It should have been a happy moment in his life, but it was all bittersweet when he realized why the Crow revealed his true self to him at such an important part of his life. It was a crossroad the Crow forced him on, and he had no choice but to choose. Stay the course and be honorable like his lord father, or be manipulative and cunning like his hero. So he chose the latter in the end. Jon soon realized the Crow once more manipulated him into choosing, for when he struggled on should he stay the course of this chosen path, the Crow reminded him of how he manipulated those in Winterfell by not telling them the truth.

He seethe, he even cursed the Crow, but in the end, he stayed true to his chosen path.

After choosing, the Crow as a way to placate him and reduce the tension between them, explained a few key points to him. According to the Crow, _“a wolf is cunning and manipulative, for if they are not, they will starve, or be killed by more powerful predators.”_ The Crow had further manipulated him by showing him his ancestor Cregan Stark enacting the Hour of the Wolf when he took control of King’s Landing after the Dance of Dragons. Even going further by showing him how the Starks came to be known as the ‘Kings of Winter’ and how they gained the ability to warg.

Jon understood all that. He understood manipulation was needed, but it meant nothing to him at the time, for the manipulation came from a man he trusted and he once saw as one of his heroes. The biggest lesson Jon learned looking back, his family was his crutch, the Crow even told him so, yet...his greatest strength. For his family, Jon learned he would burn the world asunder to protect, and living with the Crow, Ash, and the Children, they too were his family. For through them, Jon learned, family was more than blood. _‘Family is the bond forged with those around you.’_ So understanding that bond, after three full moons, he forgave the Crow.

Coming back to the present, Jon struck a final chord on his harp, sending a strong note that vibrated in the room, while the humming of the Children’s stayed soft and slow.

Eyes still close, Jon listens as the humming dies down, and all becomes quiet.

Jon’s eyes shot open when he heard clapping coming from the entrance, making eye contact with his uncle Benjen, an uncle Jon has not seen in close to a year. Jumping to his feet and running forward, Jon embraces his uncle in a strong hug.

“I’ve missed you uncle” were the first words that left his mouth.

“I’ve missed you too Jon,” answers Benjen. His ever present smile in place.

“Now then nephew, tell me of your adventures these past moons….”

_**The Dreamworld** _

“What is the matter Jon?” The Crow questions..

“What makes you think anything’s the matter,” Jon answers without removing his eyes from the board of cyvasse he and the Crow were currently playing. A game he was losing badly at.

“Well,” the Crow answered. “Ever since I taught you cyvasse, you took to it like fish to water, just like everything else we’ve taught you. This place being a great example of what I am speaking of.” At this point, Jon removes his eyes from the board to lock eyes with the Crow.

“What are you getting at Crow.”

“I know something is the matter because you are not your jovial self, but instead you are being broody—-” “I don’t brood,” Jon interrupted the Crow. Only to grow chagrin when the Crow smiles at him.

“I don’t brood” Jon couldn’t help but whine out in a whisper, not knowing what else to say to the Crow.

“Speak” the Crow whispers in his, what Jon came to dub his grandfatherly voice whenever he wanted Jon to open himself. The first time Jon told him of said voice, the Crow laughed so hard and long he began to choke and cough, that Jon thought he probably killed the last greenseer. Still, Jon is anything but stubborn, so he kept his mouth close instead of saying anything.

The Crow left out a sigh when Jon refused to say more, and fixed his eyes back on the board.

“Do you know why I know something’s the matter Jon?” The Crow began, and knowing Jon would keep quiet answers his own questions. “Firstly, we are on move four, and I only need one more to best you. Ever since you learned the mechanics and understood cyvasse, you’ve become tactifull enough that ten moves is what I require to win.” And to prove his point, on where Jon’s mindset was at the moment, the Crow made the fifth move and won the game, with Jon groaning in annoyance at the Crow being right on where his mindset currently lies.

“The second reason” continues the Crow, while the board of Cyvasse rearranges itself with a wave from Jon’s hand, “this dreamworld you’ve created is faulty and breaking down, because your concentration is lacking.”

Though Jon would not outright admit it, looking around, he could see the fractures in the dreamworld he created. Not a master like the Crow or the Children when it came to shaping the dreamworld into his desires, he was proficient enough that this realm he shaped was subpar. The chair they sat upon was hard and misshapen, the table that held the cyvasse was loopedsided, the cyvasse board was badly chipped, while the pieces themselves lack any colors, misshapen, and barely resembled the representation of what they are meant to be.

Looking around, Jon could see the grass was dull and grey, while multiple cracks can be seen everywhere. From the ground, to the white expanse of what was to be the sky itself, proving the world he created was indeed unstable.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah Jon grumbled out” keeping his eyes away from the Crow.

Jon heard the sigh leave the Crow’s lips thanks to his stubbornness, and finally after a beat of silence and more stubbornness, he turned and locked eyes with his teacher, knowing being a petulant child was helping no one, least of all, himself.

“Tell me what bothers you so Jon.”

”I made a dark discovery sometimes ago” began Jon in a whisper but magnetic voice, head upwards to the cracked sky, eyes distant. His words drew the Crow in, hypnotising the immortal being into silence.

“I learned that I care little for the realm as I thought I did at first, true I wish to fight the Others, and save it, but I learned the realm fails in comparison to my family… It scares me Crow, that I would sacrifice the realm itself if it meant my family is safe.” Finishes Jon while rubbing his face with his right hand, while twirling a misshapen cyvasse piece meant to represent a dragon in his left. So occupied with his thoughts, Jon missed the surprise look on the Crow’s face.

After the Crow stayed quiet for too long, Jon peered at his teacher, curious on why he did not give him an answer.

“Well?” Jon questions the Crow.

“It’s logical thinking of wanting to protect your siblings Jon.” The Crow smiles at him. “Myself included when I once was Brynden Rivers would have damned the realm itself if it meant I could have prevented the tragedies that befall the Targaryens.”

“Thank you.” Jon whispers.

“Now then, let us return to our game.” The Crow spoke out loud with a nod to his head, acknowledging Jon sincerity.

“One more thing, when I said my family, it’s not just those in Winterfell I would damn the realm for, but also for those beyond the wall as well. For I consider you, Ash, and the Children, though we share no blood, my family as well.” Jon finishes with a wide smile, made all the more sincere with two missing teeth.

With those words out, the dreamworld Jon created began to mend and fix itself.

* * *

Waking up earlier than ever, Jon stretches his body, removing all the kinks from the night rest. Ever since the Crow mandated no more physical training, these past seven days have left him restless, and with no other way of burning his limitless energy, Jon quickly grew bored. True the Crow taught him his numbers and letters, and Jon advanced enough in these months to be on the level of grown folks—according to the Crow— still he grew restless. Meditating to calm his mind rarely works anymore. Bow and arrow carvings became a chore, reading on forging swords also lost their appeals, and since the Crow had no forge, he felt it unnecessary to continue reading on the subject.

So as a way to alleviate his boredom and restlessness for those seven days, he spent his time diving into the past with the Crow and some of the Children. Though Jon learned early on, though magic flowed through his very being, and he himself, once more according to the Crow, was a child of magic, he was no greenseer. He would never be able to dive by himself into the past or present, let alone see the future unless a true greenseer was present, acting as a beacon. The only time he could glance at the future was through dreams given to him by the Old Gods themselves, or a Greenseer. But he did make a discovery, his dreamworld was his to control, and thanks to the magic in his blood, everything the Crow showed him, and with a heart tree acting as an anchor and beacon, he could summon those memories and view them whenever he so desires, even sharing them with others if he wishes. All he needed was concentration, patience, and blood to spill. For according to the Crow and the Children, nothing when it concerns magic is ever truly free, and being able to see memories not yours, a steep price must be paid.

The only reason he has not paid the price, was because the Crow was his anchor. “One day” the Crow had praised him after finally bringing forth one of the first memories the Crow first shared with him, “when you’ve grown strong enough in body, spirit and mind, a heart tree would not even be needed. All you’ll need are the necessary blood to make the contract.”

After his morning rituals, Jon heads to the Crow and the others to eat the last bash of the ingredients, and to help prepare for the coming trial later on that night.

Walking in the Crow’s throne room, Jon spots his uncle Benjen conversing with Ash in one corner, with the Children in the other, while the Crow's mind is elsewhere. One important secret Jon learned of the Crow. Though he fully accepted his role as the last Greenseer, his only regret was the lack of legs to walk around, so whenever he had the chance, he would take to the sky, to fly and to be truly free.

As Jon walks into the clearing, the Crow’s eyes return to normal, and all occupants turn to face him.

* * *

As Jon lays there on the cot in front of the Crow, strapped down so he would not move around too much and hurt himself and being surrounded by his teachers and family. Jon listens to the explanation given to him by the Crow, while Ash and Benjen stuck needles in his veins, attached to long hollow glass, themselves being connected to three giant glass fills with a boiling liquid, each varying in colors.

“Here, eat this.” Says Leaf in the common tongue. “It will deaden the pain once we begin.”

“Are you ready?” Ask the Crow.

Knowing any more words were useless, Jon nods his head while looking up at the great tree.

First thing Jon felt were the multiple pricks in his veins, looking at his arms, he watched as the liquid entered his veins. After, just as quickly, a warm sensation went through his body, he felt like being in the sun after a cold night, warming the body. A mere second passes before his head feels heavy, his ears begin to ring, his mouth dry. Then his body without his say so freezes up, and his blood begins to burn.

“Haaa…” A scream left his lips without his say so, then the real pain began. Jon begins to trash around, trying to scratch at his own skin, wanting to stop the burning sensations. The pain went up another level when he felt the second liquid enter his veins, when he believed the pain could not be any worse, the third liquid entered his veins.

Throughout the pain, he could hear the Crow’s voice loud and clear.

“This is it Jon, this is the moment you’ve trained for the past year. This pain is yours my boy, do not let it control you, find an anchor, and anchor yourself to it and ride it out… We are here for you my boy, but if you forget everything, know this, there is power in words, but more in one's name… You are Jon Snow, the salvation of this realm. You must survive.”

Those were the last words Jon heard before he passed out from the immense pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the title, you guys should already guess the crossover tag. So by chapter 8, I will be adding the tag to the story. I've taking many liberties, so if you see a part, especially the trial, and you say that's not possible, those are the liberties I speak off.


	8. The Witcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon survives his trials with the Old Gods, learns who he is, and reborn as the Witcher. The first of his kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. 
> 
> Sorry, this took so long, but life and job take precedence. The crossover tag will be updated as well. Keep in mind ill be using the Witcher video game lore, more specifically Witcher 3. I don't plan on adding anything more from the Witcher verse, minus the Signs of course.
> 
> Positive reviews on how to improve the story or generally asking questions are welcome. Being a dick just to be a dick will be ignored.

_**A Song Of Wolves And Dragons** _   
_**HouseOfEl**_

* * *

_**VIII** _   
_**The Witcher**_

* * *

_**The Bastard beyond the Wall** _

“Where am I?” Those were the first thoughts that came to Jon. Head foggy, made worse with the headache that made him believe his head was close to exploding. His visions blurred, with spots obscuring his sight further, and no matter how much he blinked, they linger still. Only for Jon to give up and just close his eyes until they went away.

Jon could still remember the pain, that excruciating pain that burned in his veins once the concoctions were injected into his blood via those needles. Now all he felt was just a ghost of said pain. When the crow told him he would be in pain, he thought he exaggerated the truth. That was his fault, for since Jon knew the Crow, he was a being of secrets and lies, but never of exaggerations.

Jon would admit, in his young years, he has felt pain, but those pain were more mental pains... or more precisely heartaches type of pains-for instance, watching mothers and fathers worry about their young. Knowing though he had a father, it was frowned upon to act openly with him, worse yet thanks to the lady Stark to ever called him such a name in her presence and the presence of others —-Worse yet in the presence of his lords—- Knowing he had no mother to sing to him, or to tell him stories before bed, or to hold him after a nightmare and tell him all would be alright come morning-It hurt, but they were mental and heartaches of pains. Those pains he learned to live with, he learned long ago to form a mask...a mask others claimed that made him dour, melancholy, and broody, but it was that mask that protected him from those sorrows. It was that mask that helped him, a young child survive when all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and cry.

But this was a far different level of pain. The Crow was right, everything he felt was indeed magnified tenfold. It was not just physical pains he felt, it was all of his fears coming forth. Everything he held in, all the pain he hid away within his mind, and without him acting as a constant and vigilance anchor to hold them in, they all came pouring out all at once. So not only was his body in the worst pains imaginable, his mental pains did not make anything any easier.

Pushing himself into a seating position instead of fully standing up for he was still weak, Jon opened his eyes and took in his surroundings, and his heart sped up, for he was no longer in the throne room. The Crow, Ash, Benjen, and the Children were all gone, disappeared as if they were spirited away.

‘No!’ he thought while looking around. ‘They weren’t spirited away, I was!’

For he knew none of them would have allowed him to be taken away without a fight, and looking at his body, he saw no wounds on his skin, no wrinkles in his clothing. He knew something was wrong, for when he began the trial, he was naked from the waist up.

Looking around, Jon found himself in a giant open landscape as far as the eyes can see. With giant mountains surrounding him from the far distance. so tall they were, their peaks touched the clouds itself if his eyes weren’t playing tricks with him. Standing on shaky legs, Jon did a full turn, only to sit back down because he fell so weak —and yes he realized, the mountains did indeed surround him— and he could see nothing as far as the eye could see for miles away.

Continuing to observe his surroundings, Jon made four more discoveries. The landscape was split into two parts evenly, with one part decorated with nothing but green grass. Grasses so tall and thick that he feared if he were to walk unto them, he would be lost forevermore. While the other side was covered in red sands, while snow fluttered down. Stranger still was the way the snow acted. He watches as the snow would disappear into nothingness before it would land on either the giant grasses, the red sands, and himself.

The last discovery was the landscape was both bright and dark, split evenly like the grass and sand. And looking up at the sky, Jon realized why. For in the sky, the moon and sun were split in half, touching each other—‘no’ he thought, ‘more like molded to each other in a perfect unison.’

“Huh!” That’s not weird at all he couldn’t help but say aloud.

‘Strange’ he thought. The boy took on a thinking pose, one arm crossed over his chest while the other balled into a fist for his cheek to rest upon it.

“Why am I not freaking out?” He spoke aloud. “I should be screaming and running away, yet I am calm as they come. The Crow still scared me when he first came to me in my dreams all those years ago, but here I am as calm as the dead.”

Unbeknownst to the boy, ever since he traveled beyond the wall, and came in contact with his teachers, the boy's confidence grew, so great was said confidence that he grew a devil may care attitude in most situations. Though said situations were him not caring about Ash's stupidity as he called them when it came to teaching.

“Wait, Am I—dead then?” He asks no one in particular. No answer came to him from his question, and if the lack of answer irked him, he did not show it.

Lying down in the soft and warm sand, eyes close, hands under his head to serve as support, with legs cross. Jon ponders his next move. He knew he couldn’t just head out, for everywhere he looked were nothing but endless grasses and sands.

“If I were to start walking in any direction now, it would be futile unless I have an inkling of my direction of travel, and with no stars in the sky, I can’t tell what direction is which. Worse yet, if this is not a dream, I also lack food and water for whatever sort of journey this is.

Jon didn’t even know how long he stayed lying down in the sand, but it was the rumble of the ground itself that made him open his eyes, only for them to widen a second later. Rising to his feet, the boy took on what lay before him with a look of awe. Not a couple of hundred meters from him stood a tower that dwarfs the mountains themselves. The same mountains whose peaks reached the cloud.

“How did I not see something this monstrous?!”

‘No!’ His mind was quick to correct him. ‘Before you close your eyes, this tower was not there-and you sure as hell would have seen a giant tower not more than a few hundred meters from you before you close your eyes.’

“So the only logical sense, this is either magic, a dream, or maybe both?” He spoke aloud.

With curiosity at the forefront, Jon walks toward the tower.

Arriving at the tower, Jon kept his distance and surveyed the structure from afar. Not knowing what it held inside, he wanted to be safer than sorry. Looking at the tower, Jon made three discoveries.

The first thing that stood out to him was the tower's colors. It was a beautiful construct of blue and red melded into each other, flawlessly complementing one another, synchronizing and fusing perfectly like the sun and moon in the sky. From what he could see, the two colors took multiple shapes, but not once could he say the colors outdo the other.

Not sensing any danger, Jon slowly moved forward, and there he made his second discovery. What he assumed were red and blue paints were not paint at all, but ice and fire melded together, fusing in perfect harmony… ‘like a frozen flame’ his mind came up with.

Once more Jon creeps closer, and there he made his third and last discovery. He could see no fault in the structure, no bricks, no cracks. The tower was one whole smooth structure, and with no doors to be seen on this side.

“Curiouser and curiouser.”

Curiosity got the better of him, and Jon lays his hand on the tower, and he smiles from the feeling. He could feel both the cold and warmth under his palm, but more importantly, he felt the wild magic in said wonder, and his smile grew even wider.

“Beautiful.”

Jon has felt this type of magic thrice in his short life span, when he went to the Wall, and when he met the Crow and the Children. But now, touching this tower, he felt so overwhelmed, and if he could describe the differences, it would be those three magics were akin to a small river, whereas this tower was an unstable ocean ready to swallow all that dares to challenge it.

In the blink of an eye, Jon witnesses a powerful maelstrom of rain and hail, lightning and thunder made itself known raging against the tower. What was strange was the storm never once reaching him even though he was within touching distance.

So strong the storm, Jon knew nothing human build could have survived it, for looking at the surrounding mountains, Jon witnesses every time the lightning strikes and shatters the mountains, the maelstrom would pick up the debris and toss them aside.

Looking at the devastation before him, Jon could feel nothing but peace as the maelstrom raged out his fury. Before he could contemplate on why he felt so at peace at the unbridled destruction before him, the tower split, and a door appeared. So big was the door that Jon knew even if all the citizens in Winterfell were to team up to force it open, it would not budge even an inch.

Moving toward the close the door, Jon surveys that the door was made with the same frozen flame as the tower, the only difference was the multitude of dragons and wolves that decorated said door, with each one in a different pose, facing each other, snarling and ready to attack one another.

As Jon continued looking at the dragons and wolves, two stood out to him, for instead of snarling and biting one another, the two were instead intertwined, looking upon each other with a serene look on both of their faces. ‘Is there even such a thing as a serene look on a predator’s face?’ Thought Jon.

So focused was Jon on the two beasts, that he failed to see that all the other images of the snarling wolves and dragons had all but disappeared, while the two intertwined beasts grew so large they became the center of the door that Jon was surprised he could even see their red glowing eyes with multiple golden tints in them.

Jon fell a tug pulling at him, forcing him to move closer to the door. Until without his say so, his right hand fell on the door and the two beasts, caressing their images. Peace was all he felt, but as he contemplated on the why, the giant door groaned open, giving way to next his path in this unexpected journey.

“Yes... I am indeed dead” we’re his last words before he made his way through the doors, no fear in him.

Entering the tower, Jon was forced to shield his face because of the maelstrom of snow, ice, and fog that blinded him, while the thunder and lightning so loud were deafening to his hearing. The storm was even stronger on the inside, but as the storm raged on, Jon made another discovery.

Though the storm rages on, slowly but surely, his eyesight, though he could not see far ahead, he was still able to see far enough to make his journey. The same could not hold true of his hearing though. So strong was the lightning and thunder, Jon had to cover his ears from the pain. There was a wetness in his hands, so Jon brought one hand to his face, and he was surprised when he saw his hand was covered in blood. Thinking quickly, Jon ripped a long piece of cloth from his shirt, folded his ears, and tied the long piece of cloth around his ears as tight as possible. Though the pain was still there, it was far more bearable to think and act now.

Jon turned to look at the massive doors as they began to groan as they closed behind him. Knowing to turn back was pointless, and needless debate was just as useless, Jon trek straight ahead.

Jon had no idea of how long he walked-but it seems in this place he was quick to find out, be it a dream or him dying, and this was the after, he never grew tired, nor hungry, so he continues to trek ahead. But for whatever reason, his sense of direction never deviated, it was... For lack of a better word, an instinct so integral to himself that kept him going. Said instinct if he had to give it a name came in the form of scratching, whistling, and downright annoyance at the back of his mind. Worse yet, his own body refused to listen to him whenever he deviated from the path his instinct wanted him to go.

Just to prove if he were right, Jon did multiple turns, took a wrong turn to see what would happen, and his body would always readjust his bearings.

True he desires answers about where he is or was. Wanting to know if he were merely dreaming, or worse yet dead, but by the Old and the New Gods, he hated not being in control of his body.

So as he continues to walk in the snowstorm, the feeling in his head grows stronger with every step. So strong it became that Jon feared his head would explode. Finally, he came upon a clearing free from the snowstorm, lightning, and thunder.

Entering the clearing, Jon was welcomed with nothing but a wide expanse of land covered in the same pure white snow and absolute silence. Jon knew this was the place he was searching for, for the sole fact his body and mind were buzzing in excitement. Spotting nothing but snow, Jon removed the cloth that covered his ears, only to wince in pain. Though his ears had long stopped bleeding, they were still sore from the bombardment he early received.

Why only his ears were affected by the elements was a mystery to him. A mystery at the moment that could wait until he learns where he is.

After gaining his momentum back, and ears no longer ringing and hurting, Jon began to walk. He walked no more than an hour before he spotted something in the distance, and as he got closer, he realized it was a well. Closer still, the well reached no more than waist level. It didn’t take long for Jon to realize the well, like the gigantic tower he was now in, was built with the same frozen flame, and it held the same amount of magic, if not more than the structure when he laid his hands upon it earlier. His body and mind sang when he laid his hands on the well, proving his reasonings true. Like the door before him, the well also sported the intertwined wolf and dragon.

More out of curiosity than anything else, Jon peered into the well, only to come face to face with nothing but pure darkness. The boy was unable to tell if it were due to the depth of the well, or something else. Curiosity turns into something else-as if hypnotized, he continues to stare into the darkness, waiting for secrets to reveal themselves to him, yet nothing comes forth, but still, he continues to peer into the darkness. He was hypnotized by said darkness, the beauty of the blackness. He was even surprised by the peace he felt as he continued to linger, for every story that was told to scare a child happened in the presence of darkness. Yet this darkness was different, he felt a multitude of feelings coming to the forefront, safety, warmth, happiness...

‘Curious.’

The boy did not know for how long he peered into the well, but he knew his answer lies within this endless darkness. So after staring for who knows how long, the darkness answered him.

It all happened so suddenly, Jon didn’t even have the time to react until it was all too late.

“If you stare too long into the darkness, the darkness stares back.” It was a multitude of voices he heard. And before he could even blink, four pairs of eyes appeared in the darkness to stare back at him.

Survival Instinct kicked in, instincts that told him his life was in danger, instincts that told him to move back, instincts fundamentals to all living beings since the beginning of time, instincts integrated into their very being making sure they stay alive, and yet, the boy did not back down or cower, he simply stares back. A showdown took place between the boy and the being that spoke, only to be replaced by laughter from the voices that dwell within.

“You are a fascinating child of man.”

Jon said nothing, he only continued to stare.

“Are you not scared?” The voices said once more.

“Why should I be scared?” Jon finally answered.

Mirth could be heard in their voices when they answer. “Because you are a mere child, having a staring contest with four pair of eyes in a well...speaking to a multitude of voices.”

“Heh,” said Jon with a raise of his young shoulders. “No different from the conversations I’ve had with the Three-Eyed Crow and the Children Of The Forest. Both beings sipped in magic.”

Laughter was the response Jon received. “Are you saying you are not afraid child of man?”

“Not really” Jon answered after a beat. “I know I should be, but I feel no malice from you, or whomever you are,” he pointed into the well. “Plus if I were to allow fear to enter my mind, it would do nothing but cloud my judgment, and if I were to allow such a thing, my teachers would have my ears. You have no idea how annoying they can be when I do not heed their advice-especially Ash.”

More laughter was the response Jon received. “Then tell us, child, where do you believe yourselves to be?”

Jon hums, elbows on the well, leaning forward, his hands clapped together with his chin resting upon his intertwined fingers, brow furrows as he ponders their question.

“I have two ideas. The first is but a dream, and the second'' —Jon’s gaze left the well to take in the whiteness in the clearing— “which seems more likely the more I think about it, this place is the in-between of life and death. If what the Children Of The Forest claim to be true… then the latter is the best answer.”

“Are you scared then if the answer is indeed the latter?” The voices questioned.

“Should I be?” Jon was quick to answer back.

“Maybe” the voices answer back just as quickly. Amusement still in their tone.

“Why?” Jon once more questions, brows furrows.

“Maybe because you are a dying child.” No longer was the voice friendly, nor did it carry any sense of playfulness. No, the voices were now hard. “You are nothing but a boy of ten, a boy who believes himself a man grown, carrying burdens far out of his depth and reach. Burdens any full-grown man would buckle against, yet you believe yourself to be different… special!”

The word special held contempt in them, why? Jon didn’t know, or maybe he did, he just lacked the time to contemplate the reasoning.

Silence reigns as Jon continues to stare into the four pairs of eyes from the well, and the words he spoke next were final and full of nothing but conviction.

“I made a promise to myself did you know?” Not waiting for an answer, he turns away from the well and surveys the landscape before his eyes, taking in everything, the stillness soothes him, and after a beat of silence, he begins. “That promise was to join the Crow beyond the Wall, to learn from him, and to make a difference in the war to come. I did not go to the Crow because I felt special, I went to the Crow because I know what I am.”

Strength and convictions laced his every word. Jon pointed to himself as he continued his speech, and as every word left his mouth, his voice grew in power.

“I am a cog in all of this I know, a small cog...but a cog all the same, and I truly believe with all my heart, if I were to learn from the Crow, I can indeed make an impact. It matters not if said impact is but a small ripple, for when the end arrives, when all is set and done, would the ripples I’ve set forth help the realm survive the coming war? Will it protect the innocents from harm? Would it allow a child the chance to have a mother to sing to them before they fall asleep? Or a father to teach them how to hunt?... If the answer to those questions is yes, why shouldn’t I carry said burden on my shoulders? Child or a man grown plays no part, for, in the end, the darkness the Other brings cares little of such trivial matters. But...”

“I see” the voices respond, an edge still in their tone. “Is that all there is to you child of man? Just a small cog? Just being ready to martyr himself for the greater good of the realm?”

Silence reigns, while Jon's eyes squint and his eyebrows furrow in annoyance from being interrupted.

“As I was saying” —eyes still squinted and his eyebrows still furrow in annoyance— “Those were my original intent, to be a small cog in the protection of the realm, but being with the Crow, Ash and the Children, I have come to reevaluate my stance. I’ve come to realize though I desire the survival of the realm, what I desire most is the survival of my family, and I am ready to burn the realm asunder itself to protect what is my!”

“And one more thing,” Jon stops to take a few needed breaths before he continues. “Whoever you are,” Jon carries on with an edge in his voice. “There is one thing you have wrong. You claimed I am alone in this… You could not be more wrong in your assessments. You claimed I am shouldering this burden on my small shoulders! You could not be more wrong, for you seem to forget my teachers, for they too have taken this burden, and they have sacrificed even more than I.” Jon finished with a flourish of his arm.

Silence was followed, then a roar, then the voices spoke.

“You have conviction in yourselves child of men. Prove it to us!”

And before Jon could respond, he felt himself being lifted then pushed by an invisible force away from the well. When the force stopped, Jon could barely see the well in the distance. Then the ground shifts under his feet, fissures appear on the ground, hills of all shapes and sizes rise before him, with Jon located on the highest one.

“Come to us!” The heavens itself roar.

Before Jon could respond, a multitude of wrights made themselves known, baring his path to the well, where answers awaited him. The boy's eyes scanned his environment before him, taking it all in, appraising the land and the enemies that barred his path as his teachers taught him. He even counted near a hundred wrights before he realized it was futile to continue. As he surveyed the wights, one thing stood out. It seems the wrights were static, only moving when he himself moved. It was subtle at first, but he saw it. The wights moved as one, but the most important aspect the young child learned, the wights moved only when he moved.

So to prove his theory true, Jon took a step forward, only for the wights to do the same in mimicking him. He took a step back, and the wights followed suit, then for good measure, he went left, then right, and the wights followed. But it would seem that was as far as the mimicry went, for when he raises his hand, the wights did not respond like before.

"Fight them!" The voices once more echoed. Only for Jon to take a seat on an elevated seat, and answered with a firm "no."

"No?!" The voices sounded perplexed, confused, and surprised. For few beings have outright told them no since coming to existence since time immemorial...Let alone a child with barely any life experience.

“You surprise us, child. We assumed you desired answers from us?”

“I do,” Jon answered back, “but it's foolish to believe a child can assault a group of wights of a hundred plus just because multiple voices from the sky tell him too.”

Silence reign, then laughter. “You continue to raise our expectations of you boy. Many others would have outright ran to their doom to prove some form of archaic loyalty to us, but not you.” Jon frowned at that.

“How many others?” Jon asked. Only for silence to reign. And when Jon thought no more answers would come forth, they finally answered him.

“We have lived for so long, with many followers, that we have forgotten the numbers to your question. Know this child, the number is high enough that if you begin counting now, with multiple lifetimes given to you by us, will you ever reach said number.”

“But we are proud to know that you are not the many mindless ones that have outright run to their deaths just because voices from being they cannot see asked it of them.”

“That's stupid” Jon fired back. “Then again, am I any different? After all, I did come to the North after some Crow asked it of me after showing me visions of a future that may or may not come to pass?”

“Yes. Stupid the voices lamented.” Was the first words Jon heard after thinking of his own decisions of coming to the true north.

“We are proud of you child.” The voices spoke, with a look of befuddlement that Jon couldn't help but make itself settle on his face.

“Why?” He questions.

“You would be surprised child, the many atrocities men have committed in the name of their gods. We've witnessed thousands of civilizations' beginnings and ends...and each time we choose our champions, more than not...we were disappointed.”

Jon felt the sadness in their tones, and he knew if he could see their faces, the same sadness would appear. But that changed nothing for him, for now, he had an inkling of who these beings were, and where he truly was. Gods or not, he had a bone to pick with them on the behalf of his family, the Children of the Forest. But for now, he would play whatever games they wanted. Though Jon came to realize they are indeed the Old Gods, the gods of the North, the gods of the Three-Eyed Crow, and the Children. Gods they are, and if the few allusions they let slip, be on purpose or not, these beings are not to be trifled with, and purposely angering them just because he felt they have mistreated the Children… was not ideal. Especially being in the dreaming world. So yes, he would play their game, but for whatever rules they set, he will twist them to serve his purpose. For each step they ask him to take, he will plan for three different takes that benefit him and him alone. A smirk enters Jon's face.

‘Yes...I shall play your games, but it shall be played with my rules.’

Jon looks once more to the sky after formulating his plans on how to proceed. “It's still idiotic of you to believe I will fight those wights though. First of all,” Jon uses his fingers to count off. “I've said it before, I am but a child, there is no way I can assault that army and survive.” Jon pointed to the wights’ army that waited in perfect harmony for him. “Hell, not even Ash would survive them.”

“Two, I have no weapons. How do you expect me to fight them?”

“Three, I am many things, dense is not one of them. So you great voices in the sky need to find a better way to bargain with me, for if any of you believe I will just charge mindlessly, then you have the wrong person.” Jon finished with a sneer.

Jon winced as soon as the last sentence left his mouth. ‘Stupid’ he roars inside his mind. Though he looked calm on the outside, minus the tightening of his muscles, on the inside he was a wreck. ‘Did you not plan to be docile? Was the plan not for you to come off as pliable to their wants while twisting their plans to serve your needs? But noooo, you had to act up because you were unable to remove your emotions from the equations.’ Jon internally berates himself.

Jon was forced to leave his head when the voices began to laugh.

“Pray tell what is funny?” Jon asks in a small voice, trying to come off as meek as possible. Which was not too hard since he was still a child of ten.

The laughter became even stronger if possible, with the dreaming realm itself feeling like it has been shaken to the core. Before Jon could say anything further, the voices began.

“Oh child, you are a fascinating little creature,” the voices said with laughter and mirth still in their tones. “You know in the dreaming world, a world where our powers are near-infinite, where nothing is beyond us...

As the words left their mouth, Jon began chanting no, no no no no in his mind, over and over again not wanting to believe the truth. But their next sentence shatters his plans.

“Including the reading of the mind.”

“Fuck!” Jon exclaimed, not knowing what else to say. “So then, what is to become of me now that my plans have been found?” Jon asks after a beat of silence and calming his frayed mind.

“What do you believe the punishment should be for trying to manipulate us?” The Old Gods fire back.

No longer meek, Jon squares his shoulder, his mind sharp. Though they’ve proven to be mind readers, a scenario he should have expected. It meant nothing in the end. “Why ask this of me when you have the power to read minds?” Jon scowled at the invisible beings before him.

A chuckle escaped the Old Gods. “When we read your mind, we choose a specific point, no more, no else. Plus, it is far sweeter to hear the words from your own lips than reading your mind.”

Jon couldn’t help to scowl even more when he heard the glee from their voice. “We need each other” Jon began. “But, more importantly, it would be outright foolish on your parts to punish me when the Others have begun to move. It would be close to ten years of wasted planning because I choose to use the greatest gift my teachers have bestowed upon me for the last year.” Jon finished with two fingers jabbing his head for emphasis.

“You are indeed a cunning little wolf aren't you.” The Old Gods spoke with glee. “The Crow has forged not only an unbreakable sword and unmovable shield, but he has also forged an unshakable will and manipulative mind.” The voices chuckle once more. “Now pass our final test if you desire your heart’s answers. For pleasing us, here is a hint child. Remember this is the dreaming realm, and what have you learned from the Crow and the Children when it concerns said realm?”

Then silence came, and no matter how much Jon calls to them, the Old Gods refuse to answer. “It seems I have no choice but to fight and kill these wights if I want answers, let alone leaving this place,” Jon spoke aloud while looking down at the wight’s army.

“Fucking superb!” Jon exclaimed, for nothing he thought off was helpful. Seating down on the ground and looking at the army waiting for him. Then the answer hit Jon like a bolt of lightning, it was fast and demanding, remembering the Old Gods words. For pleasing us, here is a hint child. Remember this is the dreaming realm, and what have you learned from the Crow and the Children when it concerns said realm?”

“You don't mean?...” Jon shutters out, not believing it to be this easy. But remembering the Crow’s and the Children’s teaching, and what he was able to accomplish in his training, a wide smile enters his face, strengthening to split his face in two. leaning back on the rock in a relaxed and calm manner, legs cross, with his arms resting on his thighs, Jon closes his eyes and begins his meditation and concentration techniques. What he desires to happen needed his full attention, for whenever he was in the dreaming world, it was the Crow’s magic he relied upon the most, but here and now, the Crow was absent and he was alone. ‘No... not alone’ his mind corrected him. ‘Though your teachers are absent, you are never alone, for their wills and teachings are still with you. Now concentrate Jon.’

‘Breathe in’ he whispers to himself. ‘Now hold it, feel the magic flowing through your veins, give the magic form… Now Breathe out.’

Over and over Jon performed the exercise with nothing to show for it, but still, he continued on, because he knew the Crow’s teachings were true. Until at last, one last breath left his lungs, he felt it. At first, the feeling was slow, the feeling that washed over him felt like a tingling sensation one felt when you ran your hand over cold water. Not long after, the feeling began to change from calming to a raging river. Then his blood began to sing with power as a burning sensation envelops his body. The sensation felt akin to an uncontrollable raging fire, desiring to burn all before him who are foolish enough to challenge this natural force of nature. Then just as fast, the fire began to withers, and an icy cold took hold. It was a cold just like the raging inferno, but instead of burning those foolish enough to stand before it, it freezes all in its path.

"Concentrate" he whispers. He knew what he desired, from the lessons from the Crow, Jon knew the powers that lay within the dreaming realm, and if one's mind were strong, then nothing was beyond you. Now that he was able to access the magic in his blood, all he needed now was to grasp both volatile elements and give them form.

"Concentrate" he whispers again. Jon picture himself splitting himself in two. One side made of fire, the other of ice, melding together, fusing into perfect sync like the tower he now resides in. Two natural forces of nature, bound to no one but themselves. Not once did he force them together, but instead he guides them into melding as one. If you were to ask him why he chooses said route, no answer would come forth, because he himself lacks the proper response. The best answer you would receive was an instinct that guided his hands.

After trying and failing multiple times, and losing himself, Jon began to feel the changes. Slowly but surely, he could feel both natural forces fusing into one perfect being. All the pains he felt throughout his small years were all gone until all that was left was true bliss and happiness. The only times Jon has ever felt this way if you ask him, he would tell you was when he played with his siblings in Winterfell, being with Ash, the Crow, and the Children. But most importantly when he dreamed of those two whose faces alludes him still.

Opening his eyes, Jon felt strong, stronger than he ever felt in his life. Standing up, Jon felt his equilibrium shift, thinking it was from getting up too quickly, Jon was surprised when he heard a new voice that was not his. Thinking the beings just changed their voices, he paid it no mind. Looking around he was disappointed when what he desired for did not manifest themselves. “After I went to all this trouble. Guess I am not yet ready” he spoke aloud.

As the voice rings out into the void, Jon's heart begins to race. The new voice was not of the beings that he was speaking to earlier but from him. "What the fuck he cursed!" With too much adrenaline running through him, Jon's equilibrium changes once more, and he begins to fall forward.

As he fell, it's natural for a person to lessen their fall as much as possible, it is integrated into every living being to protect oneself as much as possible. So as Jon fell, he put out his arms to lessen the impact on the ground. He was surprised the ground and himself were so far apart, then shock settled in as the arms that appeared before him were not only longer than his small ones but far larger too. Still in shock, Jon looked upon the hands that were spread into the ground, he wiggled them to make sure they were his, then he blinked once, twice, thrice. Then he let out a squeak while scrambling backward on his ass.

“The fuck!” he roars. And after he heard the voice again, he swore once more.

“You seem surprised?” The voices asked him out of nowhere after being silent for so long.

“Of course I am surprised.” Jon was quick to fire back. Only to touch his throat when he heard the voice from before. A voice that he now knew belonged to no one but himself. Jon, still panicking, scrambled around for anything to see the new adult him, and when he found none, he began to touch his body to try and feel the changes.

“Am I stuck like this?” He asks in a squeaking tone, making it all funnier coming from a grown adult. The voices could do nothing but laugh at the scene. “That's not funny,” Jon said in horror, forgetting he was still in the dreaming world.

“Was this not what you wanted, child?” Ask the Old Gods.

“Of course not!” Said Jon.

“Then what did you want then?” The Old Gods, though amused by the boy's antics, were still curious. “We believed we were all in sync when you claimed to know of the powers the dream world possesses?”

“Not like this” answered Jon.

“Then what?” asked the Old Gods.

“I thought” Jon blushes in embarrassment. I thought I could imagine some swords to fight them off, a horse to allow me to just run past them, or...” Jon pauses. “Not this” he instead said while sweeping his arm in a wide arc on himself.

The voices chuckle. “Oh child, you did far more than that. Look behind you.” Turning around, Jon saw nothing but a snowstorm that not only hindered his eyesight but the fact that it appears out of nowhere annoyed him. Jon's eyes widened in both fear and wonder when he saw two shapes of different sizes in the snowstorm slowly approaching him. The second he spots the two shapes, the snowstorm that was calm mere seconds ago took a turn for the worse, blinding him further, forcing him to shield his eyes from the onslaught. Just as fast, the snowstorm died out, and as Jon opened his eyes, he was forced to jump back in fear when he came face to face with a giant of a wolf.

The giant wolf was of the purest of white, so white was the wolf, that Jon only spotted him due to his blood-red eyes, for the beast made no noise while he stalked toward him, and for a creature that was the size of a small horse to be silent in the snow, surprises him. As the beast reached and stopped before him, Jon was surprised when he felt no fear being this close to this predator, but instead, he felt powerful. Next, he realizes this was no mere wolf, but a dire wolf. The house creatures of the Stark, his house.

Locking eyes with the dire wolf, Jon was surprised to see multiple tints of gold mesh with its red eyes, making the creature even more beautiful.

Jon slowly reaches forward, palms up as a show of non-aggression, stopping only mere inches from its snout. Though Jon desired to pet the wolf, he knew this was no mere mindless beast, but instead, the dire wolf was a majestic creature of power, magic, but mostly, a predator that could rip out his throat without ever trying. So he stopped his hand mere inches from its snout, wanting this beautiful creature to make the final move. Mere seconds pass before the wolf moves its head forward, touching his cold nose to Jon’s hand. That one gesture seems to open a floodgate, for a mere second after they touch, the wolf jumps and knocks Jon to the ground, and begins to slobber all over his face with his tongue, wetting his face in drool.

“Stop it” Jon laughs, all the while trying to stop the giant wolf from drowning him in spit. After a few more licks, the wolf finally stopped and sat on his hinges, mouth open with his tongue sticking out on one side, and its tail flapping back and forth in happiness. Rising to his feet and cleaning all the drools on his face, Jon smiles as he begins to pet the wolf. Everywhere he touches the wolf, he feels nothing but muscles and sinews. Jon was surprised when he continued to refer to the wolf as he, but more importantly, this dire wolf was still a pup, a pup that would grow to instill fear in the heart of his enemies.

As Jon continued to pet the dire wolf, the void itself shook from a roar unlike anything Jon as ever heard before. Looking in the snowstorm, Jon bears witness to the shadow of a giant creature spreading its wings, and with another roar, it shoots straight into the heavens. So fast was the creature, that Jon’s eyes could not even follow its movement in the sky.

The second the creature roared and spread its wings, Jon knew what it was. He read many stories, and for a child who’s favorite heroes were Targaryens, he would have to be a fool to not have recognized the said creature as a dragon. It was the dragons after all that elevated the Targaryens to power three hundred years ago. It was the dragons that made them conquerors, that made all kneel before them, even the Starks and the North kneeled when the conquerors came before them.

Jon stayed muted to the spot, doing his best to see the dragon's flight in the air and failing miserably. Only to look down when the dire wolf rubbed his nose into his hand. Locking eyes with the said creature, he swore that the beast rolled its eyes at the dragon that was flying and roaring into the heavens.

With one more roar, the dragon flew in his direction, only for Jon’s eyes to widen when the dragon dived at a fast speed toward him. Jon swore his life flashes before him, but before impact could be made, the dragon spread its wings, and Jon was surprised at not only the size but the beauty of them. Jon inspects the beast while it lazily hovers before him. It’s wings fully spread appears to be able to cover its own body with a few leftovers. While the outer membrane of his wing was black as night and the inner was blood red. While attached from the spine, from Jon's perspective, was a giant tail as long as the dragon itself, with serrated spikes moving about lazily.

The dragon then landed but a few feet from them, the impact was strong enough to lift all the snow into the ground and covered them in a small avalanche, and once they dug themselves out, Jon swore once more the dire wolf rolled its eyes at the dragon’s display. While said dragon, if Jon could give it a name, held mirth in its eyes.

The dragon was magnificent if Jon was to describe it. White in color with red and black streaks on its upper chest scale. A powerful serpentined, curve, and muscled neck with the same black and red streaks. Glowing red serpentine eyes with the same golden streaks as the dire wolf, but far more prominent. Rows of sharpened serrated teeth with powerful jaws to crush its prey with, while four horns adorning its head. The two short ones facing forward were red, with the tips black in color. While the two longer ones growing backward were black, with the tips red in color.

It seems this dragon, unlike all the stories he read about, was bipedal, with powerful thighs of nothing but muscle and sinews designed to carry and hold its weight. While its feet held four toes with long curve talons attached to them, with the middle one being the longer of the four. Jon watches as said creature flexes its talons, showing Jon he was able to control them to grasp its foes like all birds of prey. Moving its eyes upward to his arms, Jon surveys the muscle there as well. Limbs long and powerful enough to grapple its prey, or to transition on all four if needs be. Four fingers on its hand, with claws just as deadly as his talons. So big were his hands, Jon felt this creature could carry up to five full-grown men casually.

Looking the dragon over, all Jon could feel was power and magic... destruction and death… and Jon reveled in knowing that. It would seem the dragon could read its thoughts, for it spread its arms and wings and unleashed a roar far stronger than before. So strong was the roar, Jon thanked the gods the dragon's roar was aimed at the sky and not him. For even though the roar was not aimed at him, he had to cover his ears from the shockwave.

“Magnificent aren't they?” Jon had all but forgotten about the Old Gods, so enamored and captivated he was by these two magical creatures.

“Aye,” Jon answered. His full attention was still on the two creatures before him.

“What are they?” He questioned, already knowing the answer.

“A queer question to ask young one.” The Old Gods answered with a lightness to them. “They are a dire wolf and a dragon. As each name of the creatures was said out loud, Jon felt both of their attentions on him, and Jon looked at them as well, and a sense of familiarity unknown to him came forth. A familiarity he should not be feeling concerning the dragon, The dire wolf yes, for it is the Stark’s banner. Though he does not carry their name, half of his blood was still Stark.

‘ _Why a dragon_?’

Coming back to himself, Jon could not help but to roll his eyes at the Old Gods' lazy answer to his question. “Why the dragon?” Jon finished with his finger pointing at the said creature, and Jon swore he felt the dragon’s annoyance, while the wolf was full of glee.

“It was not us that gave form to these creatures” spoke the Old Gods. “These creatures were borne through your imagination and blood. You desired help, so your mind conjured them. Simple if you ask us.”

Imagination and blood…blood...blood...blood...blood...blood…

The word blood ran rampant inside Jon’s mind. Making him think, forcing him to evaluate what was before him. From what he learned from the Crow and the Children when magic was in play, coincidence and mistakes were rare. So after thinking it through, he questioned the Old Gods concerning said dragon.

“So why the Dragon?” Jon asks the Old Gods again, still perplexed. “I understand the wolf,” Jon continued on. “For Stark blood flows through me.” Not knowing what to do, and his mind running rampant, he begins to pace, stopping to stare at the dragon, only to restart his pacing anew, then stopping completely and going quiet, waiting on the Old Gods' answers.

“Well?!” Jon asks In annoyance when the Old Gods stay quiet, while his eyes never left the dragon.

“Why should we give you answers when you have yet to accept our challenge?” The Old Gods fired back.

Jon growled in annoyance at the answer. Still annoyed, Jon turns to face the wight’s army, and with but a mere gesture of his right hand, the army disappears into dust. “There,” Jon spoke returning his eyes once more on the dragon. “Test accomplished.”

“Not what we had in mind.” The Old Gods answers with a hint of annoyance in their tone.

“Not my fault you failed to specify your needs.” Jon quickly answered. “I passed your test, I want answers.”

“Very well” The Old Gods answer. “We shall answer one of your questions?”

“Two!” Jon quickly answered with his fingers up. “I passed two of your tests. One by creating the wolf and dragon, and the second when I defeated the wights. So I am deserving of two answers from you.”

“Hmm,” The old Gods hum. “Well played child, not only for using that cunning mind of yours to not only destroy your enemies quickly and decisively but also for using your enemies' lack of wording to your benefits. The Crow has taught you well.” They answer with mirth in their tones. “Two answers shall be given to you. Now speak.”

Jon knew what he wanted, but still, he kept quiet, afraid of the answer, of the truth, for once that box is open, it can never be close again.

“Who was my mother?” Jon asks in a small voice. Gone was all the false bravado he showed the Old Gods, now he once again returned to the small lonely child that always desired the loving touch of a mother.

Instead of a vocal answer from the Old Gods, the snowstorm returns once more and surrounds the dire wolf and dragon, completely hiding them from his sights. Just as quickly it arrives, the snowstorm dissipates, and in the place of the two beasts stood two people instead.

Jon’s heart skipped a beat when he saw the two people. Though he never met them before, it did not take a genius to know who they were, and his mind refuses to listen.

The woman before him was dressed in grey slacks, brown hair loose and wild, while on her head rested a crown made of blue roses. But if Jon had any reservation on who she was, her long face and grey eyes told him the truth. “Lyanna Stark” he couldn’t help but whisper.

Jon’s heart skipped a bit when he turned his eyes to the man next to her.

Long flowing silver hair with deep purple eyes, a beautiful face that made women swoon, and man green with envy. Dress in all black, with his boots a combination of his house colors, with a red cape on his shoulders to finish the look.. “Rhaegar Targaryen'' Jon once more whispers to the wind.

Jon couldn’t help but blink, trying to come up with the reasons why he was being shown these two. ‘No!’ His mind whispers when he witnesses the smile the two share with each other. As he opens his mouth to speak, memories not his own enter his mind. Memories of their first meeting, memories of Elia Martell, another beauty meeting with Lyanna for the first time. The three falling in love with each other, the three stealing time to be together while a Kingsguard resembling Ash of all people protects their privacy from prying eyes.

The memories grew dark, first with the death of Rhaegar by Robert Baratheon’s hand. The rape of Elia by Gregor Clegane while the blood of her son was still wet in his hand, then the death of Lyanna in the tower while her brother who happens to be a young Ned Stark cradles a newborn whom he swore to protect at all cost.

The second the memories stopped, Jon fell on his hands and knees, only to empty his stomach when the memories of Elia being rape surges forward. Tears fell from his eyes, only for rage to take over when he looked up to see Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark before him.

After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jon stood back up on shaky legs, his rage and pain still raw, he roared in the void. So strong was his rage, he shook the very dream world.

“Selfish, selfish, selfish” Jon spoke as he stumbled forward with tears staining his cheeks and his mind reeling on learning the truth of who he truly was. His true name, his true bloody legacy. “Joke, this is all a joke!” And this is all your fault he roared at the two before him.

As his blood boiled, and his rage grew, all senses left him, and all that was left was a desire to inflict pain on the two before him. Looking down in his right hand, Jon was not surprised when a long sword materialized in said hand, and before he could even contemplate the consequences, Jon rushed forward and sliced at the two, only for his rage to grow even stronger when they disperse into a flurry of snow. His blood still boiling, his rage not disappearing anytime soon, Jon slices at the flurry, and with every slice of his sword, he curses them to the seven hells.

After hundreds of slices, Jon finally grew tired. Falling to his knees, Jon unleashes a roar filled with nothing but pain and sorrow, for today Jon learned who he was, his legacy, and he hated it. And for the first time in his short life, Jon would have given anything to once more be the bastard of Ned Stark and not the legacy of Rhaegar and Lyanna. The legacy of two selfish individuals who put prophecy and their selfish wants before the realm. Knowing your birth bleed the realm, making orphans of so many children. Knowing many fathers, many mothers lost their own for a war not their own was a burden Jon did not want. Worse yet, knowing your birth caused the death of your brother, with your sister hidden away while the exile of your aunt and uncle truly broke Jon. In his grief, Jon failed to comprehend his sister's survival.

On his knees and broken, Jon cries, so strong they shook his body. Sitting on his knees, Jon unleashes years of pain and sorrow, with his only witness being the Old Gods.

Unbeknownst to Jon, he passed the test from the Old Gods. Though he was in pain, suffering, and broken after learning the truth of his birth, his will never waiver in this trying time. Instead, it grew stronger. Once he wakes, Jon would rise and become something far stronger, deadlier, more cunning, and manipulative, everything the Crow has been teaching him finally coming full circle.

“Drink” the Old Gods spoke to Jon. Lifting his head, Jon spots a cup floating only an arm's length away. All he needed to do was to reach forward.

“What is that?” Jon asks in a hoarse voice.

“Our blood.” The Old Gods answers matter of fact. “If you reach forward and grasp that cup and drink, you shall no longer be a man, you shall become something this realm has never seen before and truly never again if you are able to stop the long night. Once you drink, our blood will truly awaken the magic within your blood… and with it… certain abilities to help in your fight.”

A beat of silence before Jon reaches forward to grasp the floating cup, only to pull his hand back when he realizes he is back to his child form. Reaching forward again, Jon grasped the cup, and before he could raise it to his lips he saw his reflection. His nose and eyes red from crying so much, tears stains on his face. Jon was not surprised when he looked at his eyes and he saw nothing but a broken child looking back at him.

“You are broken Jon” the Old Gods whispers in his ears. “But your will to continue on in the face of all this pain and tragedy is where you truly shine above all... and that is why you are our chosen… Our choice to save the realm… So drink and be reborn…”

“Broken huh...” Jon spoke out loud, only to smile a broken smile when he surveyed his sunken eyes in the pool of blood once more. With another shaky breath, Jon brought the cup forth and drank.

Jon felt the magic flow through him as soon the blood touched his lips, and the more he drank, the stronger the feeling.

“Then comes the pain” Jon chuckled at his own words, for he knew no power was given without pain as a form of a price or payment. A grunt left his mouth after speaking the words, and the pain doubled. Still he did not cry out, only grunting in discomfort. After all, this new pain was nothing compared to the visions the Old Gods showed him. This physical pain shall pass, but the memories of knowing the countless deaths his birth was responsible for shall stay with him.

Another surge hit him, forcing Jon to curl in the snow. Jon closed and rubbed his head, doing his best to levitate the onslaught. His senses going haywire still, his body twitching while visions of the abilities and how to access and use them pushed themselves at the forefront in his mind.

“This pain is nothing, this pain shall pass, grin, and bear it.” He whimpered out to himself, a mantra he spoke over and over while the changes continued.

Another grunt left Jon's lips when his blood began to boil, made worse when his bones began to dislocate in their sockets and forcibly put back in, forcing his body to twist and turn in a grotesque yet beautiful way.

“This pain is nothing, this pain shall pass, grin, and bear it.” The mantra once more left his lips.

Once his body was finished healing itself, his senses were the next to be attacked. His hearing became even sharper than ever before, tripling in sensitivity compared to when he first entered the tower. A great amount of blood flows from his ears while his eardrums continuously tear and heal themselves. His nose fared no better, from the constant twitching from smelling everything around him, and with the non-stop blood flow, Jon was forced to breathe through his mouth, lest he was to suffocate. Last were his eyes, the worst of the worse. Jon swore, the way his eyes burned and bled, it felt like having molten fire poured into them, only made worse when his eyes begin to sting, the feeling worse shard of glass

“This pain is nothing, this pain shall pass, grin and bear it.” He whispers once more after another grunt left his lips.

Jon stayed curled in the ground, his body was still frozen in shock, with the said body moving only because of the many spasms running through him while he recovered his strength from this final trial, while the white snow bleeds red with the blood he spilled. Jon stayed where he was, pushing everything away, with his mantra being his only anchor forgetting

“Wolves… Dragons… their blood flows through you, now so does our blood, pure and undiluted. You are our chosen, the child of prophecy, now rise!” The Old Gods roar, “and be reborn as the savior, as the Witcher…”’

Glowing golden cat eyes sprung open in the real world, shaking the occupants surrounding the boy when he lays his ethereal eyes upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And done. 
> 
> The next 2 chapters will be a wild ride for all in the North, with chapter 9 showing Jon's manipulative mind being put in play. There should be a time skip of at least 2 years in chapter 9 if everything goes to plan, and Jon returning to Winterfell at the end of said chapter. with chapter 10 taking place in Winterfell while Jon makes his plans and continues his manipulations. 
> 
> I also want to end the first part of the story in chapter 10. With chapter 11 the beginning of the second act of the story.
> 
> All reviews that critize and gives point on how to better the story are welcome, while trolls will be ignored.


	9. Not an update

Not a chapter, just me asking for help for a few things.

I want to keep with a certain theme for the story to flow better, so I’m wondering if anyone know where I can find a translator that translate words like a week or 2 weeks in sennight or fornight. Those are the archaic terms, of those words. Everything else I find are always in Old English.

I would also like to know if Martin ever give out the age of the main Freefolks.

if anyone can help me, just give me a pm. I appreciate any forms of help.

this will also be deleted by the end of this month once I upload the chapter.


End file.
